E  TURNING 
OF  GRIGGSBY 

IRVING  BACHELLER 


THE  TURNING  OF  GRIGGSBY 


BOOKS  BY 
IRVING   BACHELLER 

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[See  pugo 


I    HO    NOT    RKMKMHKR    WHAT    I    SATI),   BUT    IT    WAS 
SATISFACTORY    TO    HER  " 


THE  TURNING  OF 
GRIGGSBY 

Being  a  Story  of 
Keeping  up  with  Dan' I  Webster 


BY 
IRVING  BACHELLER 

AUTHOR  OF 

Keeping  up  --with  Lizzie 


ILLUSTRATED   BY 

REGINALD    BIRCH 


HARPER   &   BROTHERS   PUBLISHERS 

NEW  YORK   AND   LONDON 

MCMXIII 


r 


COPYRIGHT.    1913,    BY    HARPER   »    BROTHERS 
PRINTED    IN    THE    UNITED   STATES    OF   AMERICA 


C-N 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"  I  DO  NOT  REMEMBER  WHAT  I  SAID,  BUT  IT  WAS 

SATISFACTORY     TO    HER" Frontispiece 

"l  EXPECT  HIM  TO  TRANSPORT  ME  TO  THE  GOAL 

OF  AFFLUENCE" Facing  p.   32 

GILES  WAS  AN  EPIC  FIGURE "        88 

"EDITOR  SMEAD  REFUSES  THE  REQUEST  OF 
LAWYER  PIKE,  AND  SUGGESTS  THAT  HE 
AND  HORSE-KILLER  MCMANN  SHOULD  JOIN 
HANDS  AND  JUMP  INTO  THE  AIR  AS  HIGH 
AS  POSSIBLE" "  124 


THE  TURNING  OF  GRIGGSBY 


THE    TURNING    OF 
GRIGGSBY 


CHAPTER  I 

"IT  was  a  wonderful  thing  to  see  the  way 
1  he  rose  and  stepped  forward,  and 
stood  before  the  people,  and  their  cheering 
was  like  the  shout  of  winds  in  a  forest." 
So  spake  our  old  schoolmaster,  Appleton 
Hall,  as  he  told  us  of  Daniel  Webster  and 
the  famous  Bunker  Hill  address. 

His  black  eyes  glowed  as  he  went  on: 
"There  was  something  grand  in  the  look 
of  the  man,  for  he  was  tall  and  strong- 
built,  and  stood  straight  as  an  arrow,  and 
his  soul  was  in  his  face.  A  godlike  and 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

solemn  face  it  was,  like  that  of  St.  Paul,  as 
I  think  of  him  after  reading  the  twelfth 
chapter  of  Romans.  He  had  a  wonderful 
authority  in  his  face,  and  what  a  silence  it 
commanded  after  that  first  greeting  had 
passed,  and  before  he  had  opened  his  mouth 
to  speak.  My  eyes  grew  dim  as  I  looked 
at  him.  He  wore  a  blue  coat,  with  bright 
brass  buttons  on  it,  and  a  buff  waistcoat, 
and  his  great  black-crested,  swarthy  head 
was  nobly  poised  above  his  white  linen. 
His  dark  eyes  were  deep  set  under  massive 
brows.  Now  comes  the  first  sentence  of 
that  immortal  speech.  His  voice  is  like  a 
deep-toned  bell  as  he  speaks  with  great 
deliberation  the  opening  words:  'This  un 
counted  multitude  before  me  and  around 
me  proves  the  feeling  which  the  occasion 
has  excited.' 

"Near  him,  and  looking  into  his  face,  were 
two  hundred  veterans  of  the  Revolution, 
some  in  their  old  uniforms,  many  crippled 
by  wounds  and  bent  by  infirmities. 


THE    TURNING   OF   GRIGGSBY 

"It  was  a  mighty  thing  to  hear  when  he 
looked  into  their  faces  and  said:  'Venerable 
men,  you  have  come  down  to  us  from  a 
former  generation.  Heaven  has  bounti 
fully  lengthened  out  your  lives  that  you 
might  behold  this  joyous  day.' 

"  Well  I  remember  how,  when  he  had 
ceased,  the  people  were  still  for  half  a 
moment  dreading  to  break  the  spell.  Sud 
denly  they  were  like  a  sea  in  a  wind,  al 
though  many  held  their  places  and  were 
loath  to  go,  and  lingered  awhile  talking  of 
the  speech,  and  I  among  them.  And  I 
saw  the  vast  crowd  slowly  break  and  go 
drifting  away  by  thousands,  and  I  fancied 
that  some  of  the  men  held  their  heads  a 
bit  higher,  and  that  certain  of  those  near 
me  were  trying  the  Websterian  tone.  Since 
then  that  tone  and  that  manner  have  become 
as  familiar  as  the  flag.  At  the  inn  I  heard 
much  talk  of  the  great  man  —  idle  words 
which  one  may  hear  to  this  day  and  be  none 
the  wiser,  but  possibly  much  the  worse  for  it. 
3 


THE    TURNING   OFGRIGGSBY 

"Some  said  that  he  always  took  a  tumbler 
of  brandy  before  he  made  a  speech;  but  I 
observed  that  these  gossipers  had  the  odor 
of  rum  about  them.  There  was,  too,  a 
relish  of  Me  and  Dan'l  in  all  their  talk. 
However,  the  tradition  has  come  down  to 
us,  and  had  its  effect  in  the  life  of  this  vil 
lage,  and  of  others  like  it.  However  well 
you  may  do,  young  men,  there  will  be  those 
seeking  ever  to  pull  you  down  to  their 
level,  and  if  they  cannot  move  your  char 
acter  they  will  attack  your  reputation." 

I  have  often  thought  of  these  words  of 
the  schoolmaster.  They  showed  me  some 
of  the  curious  monkey  traits  of  man. 
Through  them  I  began  to  know  Griggsby, 
to  which  I  had  lately  come.  I  suddenly 
discovered  that  I  was  living  in  the  Web- 
sterian  age,  and  a  high-headed,  reverberat 
ing  time  it  was. 

But,  first,  let  me  introduce  myself.  Peo 
ple  have  always  called  me  "Havelock,  of 
Still  water,"  though  I  am  plain  Uriel  Have- 
4 


lock.  I  have  little  in  my  purse,  but  there 
are  treasures  in  my  memory,  and  I  am  try 
ing  here  to  give  them  to  the  world  with  all 
my  joyous  thoughts  about  them  and  never 
a  feeling  of  ill  will. 

I  write  of  that  time  when  the  fame  of 
Webster  was  on  every  lip,  although  his  soul 
had  passed  some  twenty  years  before.  All 
through  the  North,  from  the  Atlantic  to 
far  frontiers  beyond  the  Mississippi,  men 
in  beaver  hats  and  tall  collars  were  playing 
Daniel  Webster.  They  dressed  as  he  had 
dressed,  and  had  his  grand  manners,  while 
their  diaphragms  were  often  sorely  strained 
in  an  effort  to  deliver  his  deep,  resounding 
tones.  The  peace  of  most  farms  and  vil 
lages  was  disturbed  by  Websterian  shouts 
of  ready-made  patriotism  from  the  lips  of 
sires  and  sons. 

Webster  was  a  demi-god,  in  the  imagina 
tion  of  the  people,  with  a  voice  of  thunder 
and  an  eye  to  threaten  and  command. 
Countless  anecdotes  celebrated  his  wit,  his 
5 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

eloquence,  and  his  supposed  capacity  for 
stimulants.  He  was  not  the  only  man  of 
that  period  who  suffered  from  the  inventive 
talent  of  his  successors.  Powers  of  in 
dulgence  and  of  reckless  wit  were  conferred 
upon  them  in  a  way  to  excite  the  wonder 
and  emulation  of  the  weak.  Daniel  Web 
ster  especially  had  been  a  martyr  to  such 
flattery.  He  never  deserved  it.  Wearied 
by  his  great  labors,  he  may  now  and  then 
have  resorted  to  stimulants;  but  his  repu 
tation  as  an  absorber  of  strong  drink  is 
a  baseless  fabrication.  Those  brimming 
cups  of  his  have  been  mostly  filled  with 
fiction. 

Nevertheless,  he  was  handed  down  to 
posterity  as  a  product  of  genius  and  stimu 
lation — a  sublime  toper.  In  that  capacity 
he  filled  a  long-felt  need  of  those  engaged 
in  the  West  Indian  trade  and  the  inn 
keepers.  In  those  days,  it  should  be  remem 
bered,  an  inn-keeper  was  a  man  of  some 
account.  With  that  imaginary  trait  of 
6 


THE    TURNING   OF   GRIGGSBY 

greatness  at  the  fore,  the  resounding  Web- 
sterian  age  began. 

When  still  a  boy  I  left  home  and  went  to 
live  in  Griggsby.  It  was  a  better  place  to 
die  in;  but  that  does  not  matter,  since, 
going  to  Griggsby  to  live,  I  succeeded.  At 
school  among  my  fellow  -  students  was  a 
boy  I  greatly  envied.  Bright  and  hand 
some,  as  a  scholar  he  was  at  one  end  of  the 
class,  and  I  at  the  other;  and  that  was 
about  the  way  we  stood  in  local  prophecy. 
I  wonder  when  people  will  learn  that  scholar 
ship  should  not  be  the  first,  or  even  the 
second,  aim  of  a  schooling.  For  it  is  not 
what  the  mind  takes  in  that  makes  the  man, 
but  what  the  mind  gives  out;  it  is  not  the 
quantity  of  one's  memories,  but  the  quality 
of  one's  thoughts.  Character  makes  the 
man  and  also  the  community.  It  was  char 
acter  that  made  Griggsby,  and  Griggsby  in 
turn  made  characters. 

Old  John  Henry  Griggs  was  the  first 
7 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

sample  of  its  finished  product.  He  had 
been  keeping  up  with  Webster,  as  he 
thought,  ever  since  he  left  school,  and  in 
that  effort  was  both  a  drunkard  and  a 
"  distinguished  statesman."  Though  he 
modestly  disclaimed  these  great  accomplish 
ments,  a  majority  of  his  fellow-citizens  con 
ferred  them  upon  him.  The  result  was  a 
public  peril. 

Among  the  students  at  school  was  a  girl 
that  I  loved.  Her  name  was  Florence  Dun- 
bar,  which  had  a  fine  sound,  while  mine,  like 
many  other  names  of  Yankee  choosing,  was 
a  help  to  humility  and  a  discouragement  to 
pride.  Then,  again,  Florence  was  rich  and 
beautiful,  while  I  was  poor  and  plain.  She 
had  come  to  Griggsby  from  the  West, 
where  her  father  had  gone  in  his  youth  and 
had  made  a  fortune.  They  had  sent  her 
and  her  brother  back  to  the  old  home  to 
be  educated.  I  had  come  to  Griggsby  from 
a  stumpy  farm  on  the  edge  of  the  forest 
ten  miles  away. 

8 


THE   TURNING    OF  GRIGGSBY 

Now,  this  plainness  of  mine,  I  soon  dis 
covered,  was  largely  due  to  my  mother's 
looking-glass,  aided  and  abetted  by  un 
tiring  efforts  on  the  part  of  all  the  family 
to  keep  me  humble.  I  often  wondered  how 
it  came  about  that  I  was  the  only  one  in 
the  house  whose  looks  were  a  misfortune. 
It  did  not  seem  just  that  I  should  be  singled 
out  to  carry  all  the  ugliness  for  that  genera 
tion  of  Havelocks.  I  would  not  have 
minded  a  generous  share,  but  it  seemed  to 
me  that  I  was  the  only  one  who  had  been 
hit  by  the  avalanche.  One  day  I  confided 
to  my  elder  brother  this  overwhelming 
sense  of  facial  deformity.  To  my  surprise, 
he  assured  me  that  I  had  a  face  to  be  proud 
of,  while  his  had  kept  him  awake  of  nights 
and  caused  him  to  despise  himself.  That 
exchange  of  views  increased  our  confidence 
in  ourselves  a  little,  if  not  our  knowledge. 
By  and  by  a  neighbor  moved  into  that 
lonely  part  of  the  world  where  we  were 
living.  I  shall  never  forget  the  day  I  went 
2  9 


THE   TURNING   OF   GRIGGSBY 

to  play  with  the  strange  children,  and  es 
pecially  the  moment  when  I  stood  before 
their  looking-glass  combing  my  hair.  To 
my  joy  and  astonishment,  I  saw  a  new  face, 
of  better  proportions  and  smaller  defects, 
and  with  only  one  twist  in  it.  I  tarried  so 
long  at  the  glass  that  the  mother  of  the 
family  smiled  and  said  that  she  feared  I 
was  a  rather  foolish  boy. 

When  I  went  home  I  proceeded  with  as 
little  delay  as  possible  to  my  mother's 
looking-glass,  where  I  found  the  long, 
gnarled  face  of  old  with  its  magnified 
freckles.  I  wondered  at  this  difference  of 
opinion  regarding  my  personal  appearance 
between  the  two  glasses,  but  with  noble 
patriotism  decided  that  my  mother's  mirror 
was  probably  right.  As  a  discourager  of 
sinful  pride  that  gilt  -  bound,  oval  looking- 
glass  was  a  great  success.  It  lengthened 
the  face  and  enlarged  every  defect;  it 
crumpled  the  nose  and  put  sundry  twists 
in  the  countenance.  There  have  been  two 
10 


THE   TURNING   OF   GRIGGSBY 

ministers  and  three  old  maids  in  our  family, 
and  in  my  opinion  that  looking-glass  did  it. 
Of  course,  other  things  helped,  but  the  glass 
was  mainly  responsible.  I  myself  would 
have  been  a  minister  if  it  had  not  fallen 
to  my  lot  to  break  a  yoke  of  steers,  and  that 
saved  me.  In  the  course  of  this  task  I 
acquired  an  accomplishment  inconsistent 
with  the  life  of  a  clergyman.  I  kept  it  long 
enough  to  trim  the  beech  trees  about  my 
father's  house,  and  it  lasted  through  many 
calls  to  repentance.  Then,  too,  my  father 
discovered  that  I  had  an  unusual  talent  for 
lying.  He  did  his  best  to  destroy  it,  and 
would  have  succeeded  if  he  had  not  ap 
pealed  to  the  wrong  side  of  me — a  side 
which  never  had  much  capacity  for  absorb 
ing  information.  Now  as  the  cow  jumped 
over  the  moon  in  my  story  book,  I  could  not 
understand  why  it  should  be  thought 
wicked  for  her  to  jump  over  the  stable  in 
my  conversation.  But  my  story  lacked 
verisimilitude.  It  wouldn't  do.  Indeed,  for 
ii 


THE    TURNING   OF   GRIGGSBY 

a  time  I  felt  as  if  the  cow  had  landed  on 
me.  It  was  a  great  monopoly  that  con 
trolled  the  output  of  the  human  imagina 
tion,  those  days,  and  while  most  of  my 
elders  were  in  it,  as  I  knew,  they  wouldn't 
give  me  a  chance.  I  persevered.  It  cost 
me  great  pain,  but  I  persevered.  My  father 
lost  heart  and  consulted  with  the  Rev. 
Appleton  Hall,  who  was  principal  of  the 
village  school  at  Griggsby,  and  he  under 
took  to  make  a  man  of  me.  That  was  how 
I  came  to  go  there,  and  to  live  in  a  small 
room  rudely  furnished  by  my  father,  where 
I  did  my  own  cooking.  The  school  princi 
pal  began  to  call  me  "Havelock  of  Still- 
water,"  i  Still  water  being  our  township  in 
the  woods,  and  others  followed  his  example. 
Mr.  Hall  did  not  waste  any  time  in  trying 
to  convince  me  that  lying  produced  pain. 
I  knew  that.  He  took  the  positive  side  of 
the  proposition  and  soon  taught  me  that 
the  truth  pays. 

In  the  main,  the  looking-glasses  of  Griggs- 


THE   TURNING    OF   GRIGGSBY 

by  were  kind  to  me,  and  the  weight  of  evi 
dence  seemed  to  indicate  that  my  face  was 
not  a  misfortune,  after  all.  Still,  I  had  no 
conceit  of  it. 

The  big  buildings  of  the  town,  the  high 
hats  and  "lofty"  manners  of  the  great  men, 
excited  my  wonder  and  admiration.  At 
first  they  were  beyond  my  understanding, 
and  did  not  even  amuse  me. 

I  had  a  profound  sense  of  inferiority  to 
almost  every  one  I  met,  and  especially  to 
Florence  Dunbar.  I  suppose  it  was  a 
part  of  that  ample  gift  of  humility  which 
had  been  pounded  into  my  ancestors  and 
passed  on  to  me  with  the  aid  of  the  beech 
rod,  the  looking-glass,  and  the  shrill  voice 
of  Elder  Whitman  in  the  schoolhouse. 
For  a  long  time  my  love  for  Florence  was  a 
secret  locked  in  my  own  breast. 

Summer  had  returned  to  the  little  village 

in  the  hills,   and  one  Saturday  in  June  I 

gathered  wild  flowers  in  the  fields  and  took 

them  to  Florence.     She  received  them  with 

13 


THE   TURNING    OF  GRIGGSBY 

a  cry  of  joy,  and  asked  me  to  show  her 
where  they  grew;  so  away  we  went  to 
gether  into  the  meadows  by  a  wayside, 
and,  when  our  hands  were  full,  sat  under  a 
tree  to  look  at  them.  Then,  poor  lad! 
I  opened  my  heart  to  her,  and  I  remember 
it  was  in  full  bloom.  I  shall  never  forget 
the  sweet,  girlish  frankness  with  which  she 
said: 

"I'm  sorry,  but  I  cannot  love  you." 

"I  didn't  think  it  would  be  possible," 
I  said. 

"Oh  yes,  it  would  be  possible,"  she  ex 
plained;  "but,  you  see,  I  love  another." 

I  remember  well  how  her  frankness  hurt 
me.  I  turned  away,  and  had  trouble  to 
breathe  for  a  moment.  She  saw  the  effect 
of  her  words,  and  said,  by  way  of  comfort : 

"But  I  think  you're  very,  very  nice; 
Henry  likes  you,  too." 

Henry  was  her  brother  and  my  chum  at 
school. 

"I  wish  you  would  tell  me  what  to  do 
14 


THE   TURNING    OF  GRIGGSBY 

with  him,"  she  went  on,  after  a  moment. 
"He's  drinking,  and  behind  in  his  work, 
and  I  am  terribly  worried." 

"It's  nothing  to  worry  about,"  I  said, 
though  not  in  perfect  innocence.  "All 
great  men  drink — it  helps  'em  stand  the 
strain,  I  suppose." 

"Havelock,  you  talk  like  a  child,"  she 
answered.  "These  leading  men  are  lead 
ing  us  in  the  wrong  direction.  You  boys 
think  that  they  are  so  wonderful  you  begin 
to  take  after  them.  Look  at  Ralph.  He's 
going  to  the  bad  as  fast  as  possible.  I'd 
pack  up  and  go  home  with  Henry  if— 

Her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  I  sat  silent 
and  full  of  shame,  and  quite  aware  of  her 
secret.  She  loved  Ralph  Buckstone,  the 
good-looking  son  of  the  great  Colonel. 

"You  love  him,  don't  you?"  I  said, 
sorrowfully. 

She  smiled  at  me  through  a  spray  of  clover 
blossoms  with  cheeks  as  red  as  they,  but 
made  no  answer. 

15 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

At  that  moment  Colonel  Buckstone  him 
self  came  galloping  along  on  his  big  black 
horse,  shotgun  in  hand,  with  two  hounds  at 
his  heels.  He  pulled  up  with  a  knowing 
look,  shook  his  head,  and  then  rode  away 
with  only  a  wave  of  his  hand. 

Florence  and  I  rose  and  walked  along  in 
silence  for  a  while,  then  she  said: 

"I'm  sorry  for  you,  and  I  will  never  tell 
what  you  have  told  me,  never." 

"And  I  will  never  tell  what  you  have 
told  me,"  I  said. 

"I'm  willing  you  should  tell  him,"  she 
answered.  "He  may  as  well  know,  even 
if  he  doesn't  care." 

Temptation  beset  me  even  then,  but  in 
those  first  months  my  natural  innocence 
was  like  a  shield.  By  and  by  I  began  to 
feel  the  weight  of  it,  and  to  lighten  the  load 
a  little.  That  wonderful  comedy  which 
was  being  enacted  in  the  life  around  me  had 
begun  to  excite  my  interest  when  I  went 
home  to  work  in  the  fields  for  the  summer. 
16 


THE   TURNING    OF  GRIGGSBY 

I  returned  to  school  in  the  autumn,  a  big 
swarthy  youth  of  seventeen.  Before  the 
end  of  that  year  the  first  of  these  many 
adventures  of  mine  opened  the  gate  of  a 
better  life  before  me. 

It  was  a  day  in  December.  Henry  and 
Florence  Dunbar,  Ralph  Buckstone,  and  I 
were  skating  on  the  lake.  The  ice  was  new, 
and  bent  a  little  under  our  feet  as  we  flew, 
out  on  the  glassy  plain  in  pursuit  of  Flor 
ence,  more  daring  and  expert  than  the  rest 
of  us.  The  day  was  cloudless,  and  the 
smooth  lake  roof  shone  in  the  sunlight.  An 
hour  later  we  were  returning,  with  Florence 
a  hundred  or  more  feet  ahead  of  us,  when  I 
heard  the  snap  of  the  breaking  ice  and  saw 
her  go  down  like  a  stone  falling  through  a 
skylight.  I  skated  straight  for  the  break, 
and,  taking  a  deep  breath,  crashed  among 
the  broken  slabs  of  ice  and  down  into  cold, 
roaring  water.  My  hand  touched  some 
thing,  and  I  seized  it — her  coat,  as  I  knew  by 
the  feeling.  Then  came  that  little  fraction 
17 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

of  a  minute  in  which  one  must  do  the  right 
thing  and  do  it  quickly.  I  could  see,  of 
course,  and  could  hear  the  shouts  of  the 
boys,  the  click  of  skates  passing  near,  and 
the  stir  of  the  shattered  ice.  That  saved  us, 
that  sound  of  the  wavering  ice.  I  made  for 
it,  got  my  hand  through,  and  caught  a 
shinny  stick  in  the  hands  of  Henry  Dunbar, 
who  was  lying  flat  near  the  edge  of  the  break. 
There  we  hung  and  lived  until  the  boys  came 
with  a  pole  and  got  us  out.  Chilled?  No. 
I  was  never  so  hot  in  my  life  until  I  began 
to  feel  the  wind. 

One  day  soon  after  that  my  father  came 
into  the  village  and  said  that  I  was  to  board 
at  the  house  of  Mr.  Daniel  W.  Smead, 
have  three  square  meals  a  day,  and  a  room 
with  four  windows  and  a  stove  in  it.  Poor 
lad!  I  did  not  know  until  long  after  that 
Florence  and  Henry  paid  the  bill.  My 
father  said  that  he  had  sold  the  big  Wilkes 
mare  and  her  foal,  and  I  supposed  that  that 
accounted  for  his  generosity. 
18 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

Florence  would  have  it  that  I  had  saved 
her  life,  although  the  truth  is  that  if  I  had 
not  gone  down  after  her  one  of  the  other 
boys  would  have  done  so,  I  am  sure,  or  she 
might  even  have  reached  the  air  alone. 
How  she  pitied  me  after  that!  Almost 
every  day  she  tried  to  show  me  her  gratitude 
with  some  little  token — a  flower,  a  tender 
word  or  look,  or  an  invitation  to  supper. 
I  loved  her  with  all  the  steadfastness  of  the 
true-born  Yankee,  but  it  seemed  to  me  now 
that  my  love  was  hopeless.  I  could  never 
ask  her  to  marry  me,  for  how  could  she  say 
no  to  me  with  all  that  burden  of  gratitude 
in  her  heart?  How  could  I  have  got  an 
honest  answer  if  I  had  been  unfair  enough 
to  ask  it? 


M 


CHAPTER  II 

R.  DANIEL  WEBSTER  SMEAD  had 
five  children  and  a  wife,  who  did  all 
the  work  of  the  household.  He  was  an 
auctioneer,  a  musician,  and  a  horseman. 

When  I  went  to  begin  my  life  in  his  house, 
it  was  he  who  opened  the  door.  He  was 
coatless,  collarless,  and  in  dirty  linen. 

"I  am  Uriel  Havelock,"  I  said. 

"Havelock  of  Stillwater,"  said  he.  "I 
salute  you.  How  is  your  health?" 

"Pretty  good,"  I  said. 

"Walk  right  into  the  drawin'-room,  an' 
draw  yer  jack  knife  an'  go  to  whittlin' 
if  ye  want  to." 

The  drawing-room  wrung  a  smile  from 
my  sad  face.  It  was  the  plainest  of  rooms, 
decorated  with  chromos,  mottos  in  colored 
20 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

yarns,  and  with  faded  wall  paper.  On  the 
floor  was  a  worn  and  shabby  carpet;  and 
some  plain,  wooden  chairs;  a  haircloth  sofa, 
with  its  antimacassar  and  crocheted  cush 
ion,  completed  the  furnishings.  The  wood 
work,  the  windows,  and  all  the  appoint 
ments  of  the  room  were  noticeably  clean. 
A  ragged-looking  Newfoundland  dog  came 
roaring  in  upon  me. 

"Leo,  Leo,  be  still,  or  I'll  subject  you  to 
punishment,"  said  Mr.  Smead. 

"Is  he  full-blooded?"  I  asked. 

"As  full-blooded  as  Col.  Sile  Buckstone, 
an'  that's  sayin'  a  good  deal." 

"Good  watch  dog?" 

"Sets  an'  watches  the  scenery  all  day." 

He  opened  the  stairway  door  and  called: 
"Mrs.  Smead!  Oh,  Mrs.  Smead!  A  noble 
guest  is  under  our  battlements." 

There  was  a  sound  of  footsteps  on  the 
floor  above,  and  in  a  moment  a  pale,  weary 
woman,  followed  by  three  boys  from  seven 
to  twelve  years  of  age,  each  in  patched 

21 


THE    TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

trousers,  came  down  the  stairway.  The 
woman  shook  my  hand  and  said  that  she 
was  glad  to  see  me,  although  I  had  never 
beheld  a  face  so  utterly  joyless. 

The  master  of  the  household  kept  up  a 
running  fire  of  talk.  Addressing  the  chil 
dren,  he  said: 

' '  Dan'l,  Ruf us,  Edward,  salute  the  young 
gentleman."  They  had  been  named  after 
the  great  orators  Webster,  Choate,  and 
Everett. 

As  they  timidly  shook  my  hand  their 
father  observed:  "These  boys  have  as 
cended  from  Roger  Williams,  Remember 
Baker,  an'  General  Winfield  Scott.  If  they 
look  tired,  excuse  them;  it's  quite  a  climb." 

The  eldest  boy  showed  me  to  my  room, 
and  so  began  my  life  at  Smead's.  Dis 
tressed  with  loneliness,  I  walked  about  the 
village  for  hours  that  afternoon,  and  on 
my  return  had  time  only  to  wash  my  face 
and  comb  my  hair,  when  a  bell  summoned 
me  to  supper. 

22 


THE    TURNING    OF  GRIGGSBY 

Mr.  Smead  was  considerably  dressed  up 
in  clean  linen,  a  prodigious  necktie,  and  a 
coat  of  black  broadcloth.  His  wife  wore 
a  clean  calico  dress,  with  a  gold-plated 
brooch  at  her  throat. 

"I  wish  the  girls  were  here,"  said  Smead. 

"They  are  out  in  the  country  teaching 
school,"  Mrs.  Smead  explained;  "they  want 
to  help  their  father." 

"Beautiful  girls,"  said  their  father — "tall, 
queenly,  magnificent,  talented.  By  force 
of  habit  I  was  about  to  ask,  '  How  much  am 
I  bid?'" 

"How  do  you  like  Griggsby?"  Mrs. 
Smead  inquired  of  me,  as  though  wishing 
to  change  the  subject. 

"I  do  not  call  it  a  very  pretty  place,"  I 
said,  still  loyal  to  Still  water. 

"An'  you  wouldn't  be  a  pretty  place  if 
you  were  the  mother  of  so  many  orators  an' 
statesmen,"  said  Smead.  "You  would  be 
a  proud  but  a  worn  an'  weary  place.  There 
would  be  dust  an'  scratched-up  gravel  in 
23 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

your  immediate  vicinity,  an'  you  wouldn't 
care.  Don't  expect  too  much  o'  Griggsby. 
It  is  a  Vesuvius  of  oratory,  sir.  It  is  full  of 
high  an'  grand  emotions,  mingled  with 
smoke  an'  fire  an'  thunder  an'  other  acces 
sories,  includin'  Smeads.  It  is  the  home  an' 
birthplace  of  the  Griggses.  There  was  the 
Hon.  John  Henry  Griggs,  once  the  Speaker 
of  our  Lower  House  an'  a  great  orator.  By 
pure  eloquence  one  day  he  established  the 
reputation  of  an  honest  man,  his  greatest 
accomplishment,  for  as  an  honest  man 
there  were  obstacles  in  his  way.  It  didn't 
last  long,  that  reputation ;  it  had  so  much  to 
contend  with.  He  never  gave  it  a  fair 
chance.  By  an'  by  it  tottered  an'  fell. 
Then  he  established  another  with  some 
more  eloquence.  He  was  the  first  Dan'l 
Webster  of  Griggsby  —  looked  like  him, 
dressed  like  him,  spoke  like  him,  drank  like 
him.  Always  took  a  tumbler  of  brandy 
before  he  made  a  speech,  an'  say,  wa'n't  he  a 
swayer?  The  way  he  handled  an  audience 
24 


THE   TURNING   OFGRIGGSBY 

was  like  swingin'  a  cat  by  the  tail.  He 
kep'  'em  goin';  didn't  give  'em  time  to 
think.  It  wouldn't  have  been  safe.  As  a 
thought  -  preventer  John  Henry  beats  the 
world!  The  result  was  both  humorous  an' 
pathetic." 

Mr.  Smead,  with  the  voice  of  Stentor  at 
the  gates  of  Troy,  delivered  a  playful 
imitation  of  the  late  John  Henry. 

"You're  quite  an  orator,"  I  said. 

"Oh,  I  can  swing  the  cat  a  little,"  said 
he.  "Ye  ought  to  hear  me  talk  hoss  or 
tackle  the  old  armchair  at  an  auction  sale. 
It  would  break  a  drought.  So  much  for  the 
Smeads.  As  to  the  other  great  folks, 
Senator  John  Griggs,  a  distinguished  mem 
ber  of  our  Upper  House,  is  also  a  son  of 
Griggsby,  not  so  great  as  his  father,  but  a 
high-headed,  hard-workin',  hand-engraved, 
full-tinted  orator.  He  has  a  scar  on  his 
face  three  inches  long  that  he  got  in  a  polit 
ical  argument.  Flowers  of  rhetoric  grow 
on  him  as  naturally  as  moss  on  a  log. 
3  25 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

"Years  ago  he  convicted  a  man  of  murder 
here  with  oratory — made  the  jury  weep  till 
they  longed  for  blood  an'  got  it.  Bill 
Smithers  loaded  himself  to  the  muzzle  with 
rum  an'  oratory  for  the  defense.  Nobody 
did  any  work  on  the  case.  The  oratory 
of  Griggs  was  keener  than  the  oratory  of 
Smithers — more  flowery,  more  movin'.  It 
fetched  the  tears,  an'  conviction  came  with 
them.  Of  course,  Griggs  had  the  body 
of  the  victim  on  his  side.  Smithers  roared 
an'  wept  for  half  a  day.  The  jury  had 
been  swung  until  it  was  tired.  It  clung  to 
the  ground  with  tooth  an'  nail.  The 
fountain  of  its  tears  had  gone  dry.  The 
prisoner  was  convicted,  slain  by  oratory- 
pure  oratory,  undefiled  by  intelligence;  an' 
years  after  he  was  put  in  his  grave  a  woman 
confessed  that  she  had  committed  the 
crime.  Oh,  Griggs  is  a  wonder.  He's  an 
other  D.  W.,but  he's  a  good-hearted  man. 
I  heard  him  say  that  he  had  rebuilt  the 
church  of  his  parish  with  his  earnings  at 
26 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

poker.  That's  the  kind  of  man  he  is— 
reckless,  but  charitable.  Everybody  calls 
him  John.  They  say  that  whisky  has  no 
effect  on  him.  It  is  like  water  pouring  on  a 
rock.  It  only  moistens  the  surface. 

"Then  there  is  Col.  Silas  Buckstone,  our 
Congressman,  whose  home  is  also  in  Griggs- 
by,  another  D.  W.,  a  man  of  quality  an' 
quantity,  great  length,  breadth,  an'  thick 
ness,  with  a  mustache  eight  inches  long  an' 
a  voice  that  can  travel  like  a  trottin'-hoss. 
A  man  of  a  distinguished  presence  an' 
several  distinguished  absences. 

"Yes,  I  regret  to  say  that  he  goes  on  a 
spree  now  an'  then.  It's  a  pity,  but  so 
often  the  case  with  men  o'  talent — so  aw 
fully  often.  About  twice  a  year  the  Colonel 
slides  off  his  eminence,  an'  down  he  goes  into 
the  valley  o'  the  common  herd  with  loud 
yells  o'  joy.  Once  he  slid  across  a  corner 
o'  the  valley  o'  death,  but  that  didn't 
matter.  What's  the  use  o'  havin'  an 
eminence  unless  you're  to  enjoy  the  privi- 
27 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

lege  of  slidin'  down  it  when  ye  want  to? 
It  was  his  eminence.  While  his  spree  lasts 
the  Colonel  buys  everything  in  sight  until 
his  money  is  gone.  Then  some  one  has  to 
go  an'  tow  him  back  to  us.  Once  he  re 
turned  the  proud  owner  of  a  carload  of 
goats  an'  a  millinery  store." 

Mr.  Smead  also  told  me  of  the  two 
judges,  Warner  and  Brooks,  the  ablest 
members  of  the  county  bar,  who,  it  seems, 
were  always  wandering  toward  the  dewy, 
meadowy  path  of  dalliance.  He  said  that 
sometimes  they  hit  the  path,  and  sometimes 
the  path  hit  them  and  left  some  bruises. 
They  enjoyed  the  distinctions  of  being  looked 
up  to  and  of  being  looked  down  upon. 

"Of  course,  there  are  able  men  in  the 
village  who  are  addicted  to  sobriety,"  he 
went  on.  "Some  of  them  have  tried  to  re 
form,  but,  alas!  the  habit  of  sobriety  has 
become  fixed  upon  them — weak  stomachs, 
maybe.  They  have  to  worry  along  without 
the  stamp  o'  genius,  just  commonplace, 
28 


THE    TURNING    OF  GRIGGSBY 

every-day-alike  men.  Nobody  takes  any 
notice  of  'em.  Once  a  prominent  citizen 
denounced  one  o'  them  on  the  street  as  a 
damn  little-souled,  conscientious  Christian 
who  could  get  drunk  on  a  thimble  o'  whisky. 
It  was  one  o'  the  first  indictments  against 
virtue  on  record. 

"'Ha!  I  see  that  you  are  sober,'  said 
John  Griggs  to  a  constituent  whom  he  met 
in  the  street  one  day.  'I  will  forgive  you, 
but  don't  let  it  happen  again.  Think  of 
the  obscurity  that  awaits  you  and  of  the 
example  you  are  setting  to  the  young. 
Think  of  Deacon  Bradley  and  Priscilla 
Perkins.  Sir,  if  you  keep  on  you  will  be 
wrecked  on  the  hidden  reefs  of  hopeless 
sobriety." 

Dan'l  Webster  laughed  for  a  minute  and 
continued:  "Griggsby  is  the  home  and 
Paradise  of  the  rural  hoss-trader,  whose 
word  is  as  good  as  his  hoss,  and  who  never 
fools  anybody  except  when  he  is  telling  the 
truth.  One  of  'em  was  sued  for  sellin'  a 
29 


worthless  hoss.  His  defense  was  that  a 
man  who  traded  with  him  took  his  life  in  his 
hands,  an'  everybody  ought  to  know  it; 
an'  the  justice  ruled  that  there  were  cer 
tain  men  that  it  was  a  crime  to  believe,  an' 
that  he  who  did  it  received  a  natural  and 
deserved  punishment." 

So  in  his  curious  way,  which  was  not  to 
be  forgotten,  he  described  this  heroism  of 
the  human  stomach,  this  adventurous  de 
fiance  of  God  and  nature.  In  those  callow 
days  that  view  appealed  to  my  sporting 
instinct. 

"You  see,  the  stamp  of  genius  is  on  all 
our  public  men,"  Mr.  Smead  continued. 
"They  all  wear  the  scarlet  blossom  of 
capacity  on  their  noses.  The  scarlet  blos 
som  an'  the  silver  tongue  go  hand  in  hand, 
as  it  were." 

Mr.  Daniel  Webster  Smead  was,  indeed, 
a  singular  man.  He  had  little  learning,  but 
was  a  keen  observer.  Ever  since  his  boy 
hood  he  had  browsed  in  good  books, 
30 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

notably  those  of  Artemus  Ward  and  Charles 
Dickens.  The  Websterian  thunder  did  not 
appeal  to  him,  but  he  had  cultivated  certain 
of  the  weaknesses  which  he  had  vividly 
described.  He  had  a  massive  indolence 
and  a  great  fondness  for  horses.  He  was 
drunk  with  hope  all  the  time,  and  now  and 
then  sought  the  stimulation  of  beer.  Hopes 
and  hops  were  his  worst  enemies.  When 
he  talked  people  were  wont  to  laugh,  but 
every  one  said  that  Smead  did  not  amount 
to  anything.  However,  if  all  the  other 
leading  lights  of  the  village  had  conferred 
their  brains  jointly  on  one  man,  he  would 
not  have  been  more  than  knee-high  to  the 
mental  stature  of  Smead.  He  was  a  man  of 
wide  talent — a  kind  of  human  what-not. 
He  could  do  many  things  well,  but  ac 
complished  little. 

In  fact,  Mr.  Smead  was  an  ass,  and  he 
knew  enough  to  know  that  he  was  an  ass, 
which  of  itself  distinguished  him  above  all 
the  citizens  of  Griggsby.  He  was  drifting 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

along  in  the  bondage  of  custom;  and  he 
knew  it,  and  laughed  at  his  own  folly. 

As  we  rose  from  the  table  he  said,  in  a 
little  aside  to  me:  "In  the  morning  I'll  show 
you  a  hoss  an'  a  fool,  an'  both  standard-bred 
an'  in  the  two-thirty  list." 

I  spent  the  evening  in  my  own  room  with 
a  book,  and  when  I  came  down  in  the  morn 
ing  I  saw  Mr.  Smead  entering  the  gate  in 
a  shining  red  road  cart  behind  a  horse 
blanketed  to  his  nose,  and  in  knee  and  ankle 
boots.  I  hurried  to  the  stable,  where  Mr. 
Smead  stood  proudly,  with  a  short  whip  in 
his  hand,  while  the  boys  were  removing  the 
harness  and  boots  from  a  big,  steaming 
stallion. 

"There  is  Montravers  —  mark  of  two 
twenty-nine  an'  a  half,"  said  he,  glibly. 
"By  Bald  Eagle  out  of  Clara  Belle,  she  by 
George  Wilkes,  he  by  Hambletonian  X.; 
his  dam  was  Queen  Bess  by  Wanderer,  out 
of  Crazy  Jane,  she  by  Meteor.  I  expect 
him  to  transport  me  to  the  goal  of  affluence." 
32 


I    KXl'KCT    HIM    TO    TRANSI'OKT    MK    TO    THE    GOAT,    OF 
AFFI.l.'KNCK  " 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

Two  of  the  boys  were  deftly  scraping 
Montravers's  sides,  while  the  third  sponged 
his  mouth  and  legs.  Then  the  youthful 
band  fell  to  with  rubbing-cloths,  backed  by 
terrible  energy,  on  the  body  of  the  big  horse. 

"The  fathers  of  this  village  all  have  to  be 
helped,"  said  Mr.  Smead;  "they're  so  busy 
with  one  thing  or  another,  mostly  another. 
Ye  can't  be  a  Dan'l  Webster  an'  do  any 
thing  else." 

This  matter  of  "helpin'  father"  seemed  to 
me  to  be  rather  arduous.  As  the  horse 
grew  dry  the  boys  grew  wet.  Perspiration 
had  begun  to  roll  down  their  faces. 

"The  trottin'-hoss  is  the  natural  ally  of 
the  orator  an'  the  conversationalist,"  said 
Mr.  Smead.  "He  stimulates  the  mind  an' 
furnishes  food  for  thought.  A  man  who 
has  owned  a  trotter  is  capable  of  any  feat 
of  the  imagination,  an'  some  of  our  deepest 
thinkers  have  graduated  from  the  grand 
stand  an'  the  sulky.  Everybody  goes  in  for 
trotters  here. 

33 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

"John  Griggs  an'  Colonel  Sile  an'  Horace 
Brooks  an'  Bill  Warner,  all  have  their 
trotters.  If  a  farmer  gets  some  money 
ahead  he  buys  a  trotter  an'  begins  to  train 
for  speed  an'  bankruptcy.  It  helps  him  to  a 
sense  o'  grandeur  an'  distinction.  If  there's 
anything  else  that  can  be  done  with  money, 
he  don't  know  it.  His  boys  look  like 
beggars,  an'  his  hoss  looks  like  a  prince; 
just  like  mine.  I  told  ye  I'd  show  ye  a 
fool,  an'  here  I  am  —  a  direct  descendant 
of  Thankful  Smead  by  Remember  Baker. 
But  I  really  have  a  prize  in  this  animal. 
I  expect  to  sell  him  for  big  money." 

Soon  we  heard  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Smead 
at  the  back  door. 

"Boys,  where  are  you?"  she  called. 

"Helpin'  father,"  answered  Daniel,  the 
eldest  of  them. 

"Well,  breakfast  is  waiting,"  said  she, 
with  a  touch  of  impatience  in  her  tone. 
"You  must  be  getting  ready  for  school." 

"He'll  do  now,"  said  Smead.     "Put  on 
34 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

the  coolin'  sheet  an'  walk  him  for  ten 
minutes." 

A  big,  spotless  sheet  blanket  was  thrown 
over  the  shiny,  silken  coat  of  the  horse,  and 
Rufus  began  to  walk  him  up  and  down  the 
yard  while  the  rest  of  us  went  in  to  break 
fast. 

There  was  a  pathetic  contrast  which  I 
did  not  fail  to  observe,  young  as  I  was, 
between  the  silken  coat  of  the  beast  and  the 
faded  calico  dress  of  the  woman ;  between  his 
lustrous,  flashing  eyes  and  hers,  dull  and 
sad;  between  his  bounding  feet  and  hers, 
which  moved  about  heavily;  between  the 
whole  spirit  of  Montravers  and  that  of  Mrs. 
Smead.  I  saw,  too,  the  contrast  between 
the  splendid  trappings  of  the  stallion  and  the 
patched  trousers  of  the  boys.  I  wondered 
how  the  boys  were  going  to  be  cooled  off. 
They  simply  took  a  hurried  wash  in  a  tin 
basin  at  the  back  door  and  sat  down  at  the 
table  in  damp  clothes.  We  could  hear 
timid  remarks  in  the  kitchen  about  a  worth- 
35 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

less  horse,  about  boys  who  would  be  late  to 
school,  and  the  delayed  work  of  the  day. 

"If  that  hoss  could  only  keep  up  with 
my  imagination!"  said  Smead,  mournfully. 

"Dan'l,  you  must  take  care  of  the  horse 
yourself  in  the  morning,"  said  Mrs.  Smead. 

"But  my  imagination  keeps  me  so  busy, 
mother,"  said  he.  " Montravers  works  it 
night  an'  day.  It  don't  give  me  any  sleep, 
thinkin'  o'  the  wealth  that's  just  ahead  of 
us.  It  pants  with  weariness.  Almost  every 
night  I  dream  of  tossin'  a  whole  basket  of 
gold  into  my  wife's  lap  an'  sayin',  'There, 
mother,  it's  yours;  do  as  you  like  with  it." 

She  made  no  reply.  That  gold-tossing 
had  revived  her  hope  a  little  and  pacified 
her  for  the  moment. 

Such  was  a  sample  day  in  the  life  of  the 
Smeads  when  Dan'l  Webster  was  at  home. 
Every  night  and  morning  the  boys  were 
helping  father  by  rubbing  the  legs  and  body 
of  the  stallion.  I  soon  acquired  the  habit, 
partly  because  I  admired  the  splendid 
36 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

animal,  partly  to  help  the  boys.  I  had 
never  rubbed  a  horse's  legs  before,  and  it 
appealed  to  me  as  a  new  form  of  dissipation. 

We  were  all  helping  father  while  the 
mother  worked  along  from  dawn  till  we 
had  all  gone  to  our  beds — all  save  the  head 
of  the  house.  He  spent  his  evenings  read 
ing,  or  in  the  company  of  the  horsemen 
at  the  Palace  Hotel. 

I  was  now  deeply  interested  in  my  school 
work.  One  night  I  had  sat  late  with  my 
problems  in  algebra,  and  lay  awake  for 
hours  after  I  went  to  bed.  The  clock  struck 
twelve,  and  still  I  could  hear  Mrs.  Smead 
rocking  as  she  sewed  downstairs.  By  and 
by  there  were  sounds  of  Mr.  Smead  entering 
the  front  door.  Then  I  heard  her  say : 

"Dan'l,  you  promised  me  not  to  do  this 
again.  The  boys  are  growing  up,  and  you 
must  set  them  a  better  example." 

She  spoke  kindly,  but  with  feeling. 

"Mother,  don't  wake  me  up,"  he  pleaded. 
"I've  enjoyed  an  evening  of  great  pride  an' 
37 


THE   TURNING   OF   GRIGGSBY 

immeasurable  wealth.  They've  been  prais- 
in'  my  hoss,  an'  two  men  from  New  York 
are  comin'  to  buy  him.  I'm  a  Croesus. 
For  the  Lord's  sake,  lemme  go  to  bed  with 
the  money!" 

I  lay  awake  thinking  what  a  singular  sort 
of  slavery  was  going  on  in  that  house. 

What  a  faithful,  weary,  plodding  creature 
the  slave  was!  She  reminded  me  of  those 
wonderful  words  which  my  mother  had 
asked  me  and  my  sister  to  commit  to 
memory : 

"Entreat  me  not  to  leave  thee  or  to  re 
turn  from  following  after  thee:  for  whither 
thou  goest  I  will  go;  and  where  thou 
lodgest  I  will  lodge :  thy  people  shall  be  my 
people  and  thy  God  my  God.  Where  thou 
diest  will  I  die,  and  there  will  I  be  buried: 
the  Lord  do  so  to  me  and  more,  also,  if 
aught  but  death  part  thee  and  me." 

Thy  God  shall  be  my  God,  indeed,  even 
though  He  be  nothing  better  than  a  high 
bred  stallion! 


CHAPTER  III 

TN  a  way  Henry  Dunbar  was  like  Texas, 
A  whence  he  had  come  with  his  sister 
Florence  to  go  to  school  in  Griggsby. 
Colonel  Buckstone  had  often  referred  to 
him  as  "The  Lone  Star."  He  was  big, 
warm-hearted,  and  brave,  could  turn  a 
hand-spring,  and  was  the  best  ball-player 
at  the  academy.  He  could  also  smoke  and 
chew  tobacco. 

"Have  a  chew?"  he  asked,  the  first  day 
we  met. 

I  confessed  with  shame  that  I  was  not  so 
accomplished. 

"If  you  get  sick,  take  some  more,"  he 
said.  "That's  the  only  way.  Everybody 
chews  that  is  anybody." 

It  was  almost  true.  Many  of  the  leading 
39 


Till-   TURNING  OF  GRIGGSBY 

men  went  about  with  a  bulge  on  two  side 
of  their  faces.  An  idea  came  to  inc.  I 
would  show  Henry  that  I  had  at  least  one 
manly  accomplishment,  So  I  conducted 
him  to  the  Smead  stable  and  began  rubbing 
a  leg  of  Mont  ravers.  Henry  was  impressed; 
tic  wanted  to  try  it,  and  did,  and  thereby 
the  horse  got  hold  of  his  imagination  also. 

Next  morning  at  daylight  we  went  down 
to  the  fairground  to  soo  Mtwtravo.rs  driven. 
There  were  other  horses  at  work,  and  the 
shouts  of  the  drivers  and  the  swift  tatttx> 
of  the  hoofs  quickened  our  pulses  before 
we  could  see  the  track.  The  scene,  so  full 
of  life  and  spirit,  thrilled  us.  It  was  fine 
bait  for  boys  and  men.  In  our  excitement 
we  thought  neither  of  school  nor  of  break 
fast. 

l»v  and  by  the  leading  citi/ens  Ivgan  to 
arrive  in  handsome  runabouts  and  to  take 
their  places  on  the  grand  stand. 

"That's  Colonel  Sile  Huckstone."  Henry 
whispered. 

40 


There  was  no  mistaking  the  Colonel's 
bovine  head  and  scarlet  blossom.  His 
voice  roared  a  greeting  to  every  newcomer. 
His  son  Ralph,  our  schoolmate,  arrived 
with  his  father,  and  joined  us  down  by  the 
wire.  Senator  Griggs,  Judge  Warner,  and 
a  number  of  leading  merchants  had  also 
arrived.  These  men  had  what  was  called 
a  fine  "delivery."  Most  of  them  sat  in 
broadcloth  and  silk  hats,  expectorating  with 
a  delivery  at  once  exact  and  impressive. 
There  was  the  resounding  Websterian  tone 
coupled  with  a  rustic  swagger  and  glibness 
that  could  be  found  in  every  country  village. 
What  vocal  and  pedestrial  splendor  was 
theirs  as  they  rose  and  strode  to  the  sulky 
of  Montravers,  who  had  finished  a  trial 
heat !  Much  of  the  splendor  had  been  im 
ported  from  the  capitals  by  Smithers, 
Brooks,  and  Buckstone;  but  more  of  it  was 
natural  Websterian  effulgence. 

Mr.  Smead  was  right;  the  trotter  was  in 
deed  the  friend  and  ally  of  the  "conver- 
4  41 


THE    TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

sationalist."  How  well  those  high-sounding 
names  fitted  the  Websterian  tone — Mon- 
travers,  Hambletonian,  Abdallah,  Mam- 
brino  Chief.  And  so  it  was  with  all  the 
vivid  phrases  of  the  racetrack.  The  sleek, 
high  heads  and  spurning  feet  of  the  horses 
seemed  to  stimulate  and  reflect  the  Web 
sterian  spirit.  When  a  man  looked  at  one 
of  those  horses  he  unconsciously  tightened 
his  check  rein.  If  his  neck  was  a  bit 
weary,  he  felt  for  his  flask  or  set  out  for  the 
Palace  Hotel. 

Those  great  men  complimented  Mr. 
Smead  on  his  horse,  and  the  Senator  bet 
a  hundred  dollars  with  the  Congressman 
that  Montravers  would  win  his  race. 

"Let  us  bet  on  that  horse,"  said  Henry 
to  me;  "we  can't  lose." 

I  confessed  with  some  shame  that  I  did 
not  know  how  to  bet. 

"That's  easy,"  said  Henry.  "I'll  show 
you  how  when  the  time  comes." 

Then  we  went  round  among  the  stables. 
42 


THE   TURNING   OF   GRIGGSBY 

What  a  center  of  influence  and  power  was 
that  half-mile  track  and  the  stables  about 
it.  It  was  a  primary  school  of  crime,  with 
its  museum  of  blasphemy  and  its  depart 
ment  of  slang  and  lewdness.  What  a  place 
for  the  tender  soul  of  youth ! 

There  were  the  sleek  trotters  passing  in 
and  out,  booted  for  their  work.  In  the 
sulkies  behind  them  were  those  cursing, 
kinglike,  contemptuous  jockeys,  so  sublime 
and  exalted  that  they  were  even  beyond 
the  reach  of  our  envy.  There  were  the 
great  prancing,  beautiful  stallions,  and  the 
swipes — heroic,  foul-mouthed,  proud,  free, 
and  some  of  them  dog-faced.  Scarred, 
sniffing  bulldogs  were  among  them,  spaniels 
with  grace  locks  on  their  brows,  sleek  little 
fox  terriers,  and  now  and  then  a  roaring 
mastiff.  How  we  envied  them!  We  be 
came  their  willing  slaves,  we  boys  of  the 
school,  fetching  water  and  sweeping  floors 
for  the  sacred  privilege  of  rubbing  a  horse's 
leg.  In  the  end  some  had  been  kicked  out 
43 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

of  the  stables,  but  they  did  not  mind  that. 
What  was  that  if  they  could  only  play 
swipes  and  rub  a  horse's  leg?  It  only 
heightened  their  respect  and  their  will  to 
return. 

As  my  life  went  on  I  saw  how  these 
leading  lights  of  Griggsby  shone,  like  stars, 
above  the  paths  of  the  young  who  were 
choosing  their  way. 

We  boys  began  to  think  that  greatness 
was  like  a  tree,  with  its  top  in  the  brain 
and  its  roots  in  the  human  stomach,  and 
that  the  latter  needed  much  irrigation. 
It  seemed  to  us  that  poker,  inebriety, 
slangy  wit,  and  the  lavish  hand  were  as  the 
foliage  of  the  tree;  that  fame,  wealth,  and 
honor  were  its  fruit ;  that  the  goat,  the  trot- 
ting-horse,  and  the  millinery  store  were  as 
birds  of  the  air  that  sometimes  lit  in  its 
branches. 

We  boys  were  wont  to  gather  in  an  aban 
doned  mill  near  the  Smead  house,  on  the 
river  bank,  after  school,  for  practice  in 
44 


THE   TURNING    OF   GRIGGSBY 

chewing  and  expectoration,  and  to  discuss 
the  affairs  of  the  village. 

One  day  Henry  Dunbar  and  Ralph 
Buckstone  had  a  little  flask  of  whisky, 
which  they  had  stolen  from  the  coat  pocket 
of  old  Thurst  Giles  as  he  lay  drunk  in  the 
lumber  yard.  Henry  held  it  up  and  gave 
us  an  able  imitation  of  John  Griggs  in  the 
bar-room  of  the  Palace  Hotel,  through  the 
open  door  of  which  we  boys  had  witnessed 
bloody  and  amusing  episodes. 

"Gentlemen,  here's  to  the  juice  of  the 
corn,"  he  began,  in  the  swelling  tone  of 
Griggs.  "The  inspiration  of  poetry,  the 
handmaid  of  eloquence,  the  enemy  of  sor 
row,  the  friend  of  genius,  the  provoker  of 
truth." 

It  was  rather  convincing  to  the  youthful 
mind,  coming  as  it  did  from  the  lips  of  the 
great  Griggs.  We  wondered  how  it  was 
that  old  Thurst  Giles  and  Billy  Suds,  and 
other  town  drunkards,  had  failed  to  achieve 
greatness.  They  were  always  soaked ;  Ralph 
45 


THE    TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

said  that  the  juice  did  not  have  a  fair  chance 
in  such  men,  that  they  were  too  poor  and 
scrawny,  and  their  stomachs  too  small. 
They  lacked  capacity.  It  was  like  putting 
seed  in  thin  soil.  Everybody  knew  that 
John  Griggs  could  drink  a  whole  big  bottle 
and  walk  off  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

Henry  Dunbar  said  that  a  man  had  to 
have  money  and  clothes  and  a  good  voice, 
and  especially  a  high  hat,  as  well  as  whisky 
and  cigars,  to  amount  to  anything. 

Tommy  West  thought  that  the  failure 
of  Thurst  and  Billy  was  due  to  the  fact  that 
they  were  dirty  and  mean,  and  could  not 
make  a  speech.  In  his  view,  also,  they 
didn't  shave  often  enough.  If  a  man  used 
whisky  just  for  the  sake  of  keeping  up  ap 
pearances,  it  was  all  right;  but  if  he  used 
it  to  get  drunk  with,  it  made  him  just 
naturally  comical. 

Parents,  ministers,  and  Sunday  schools 
were  temporary  obstacles  to  the  wearing  of 
beaver  hats,  the  carrying  of  gold-headed 
46 


THE   TURNING    OF  GRIGGSBY 

canes,  and  the  driving  of  fast  horses.  It 
would  not  do  for  a  boy  to  be  swelling  around 
bigger  than  his  father,  but  when  we  had 
become  large  and  strong  and  worthy,  the 
beaver  and  its  accompaniments  would  be 
added  unto  us.  Some  of  us  got  the  idea — 
although  none  of  us  dared  to  express  it — 
that  our  fathers  were  not  so  great  or  so 
grand  as  they  might  be,  and  we  thought  we 
knew  the  reason.  Luckily,  from  this  last 
of  our  secret  sessions  I  went  home  sick, 
convinced  that  a  humble  life  was  best 
for  me. 

The  next  day  Florence  sent  a  note  to  my 
room,  saying  that  she  wished  to  see  me. 
We  went  out  for  a  walk  together. 

"I'm  going  to  look  after  you,"  she  said. 
"You  haven't  any  mother  here,  and  you 
need  me.  You've  simply  got  to  behave 
yourself." 

She  stopped,  faced  me,  and  stamped  her 
pretty  foot  on  the  ground,  and  there  were 
tears  in  her  blue  eyes.  She  turned  me  about 
47 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

and  took  my  arm  and  held  it  close  against 
her  side  as  we  walked  on  in  silence. 

"I  don't  know  how — that's  what's  the 
matter  with  me,"  I  said,  helplessly. 

' ' Don't  worry, ' '  she  answered.  "I'm  only 
a  girl,  but  I  can  give  you  lessons  in  the  art 
of  being  a  gentleman  if — if  necessary.  I 
owe  much  to  you,  Havelock,  and  I  can't 
forget  it.  I  shall  not  let  you  be  a  fool." 

"I  can't  help  it,"  I  said. 

"Then  I'll  try  to  help  it,"  she  answered. 
"At  least,  I'll  make  it  hurt  you." 

I  did  my  best  after  that — not  very  well,  I 
fear,  but  my  best,  all  things  considered — and 
kept  my  heart  decently  clean  for  her  sake. 
More  than  once  I  wept  for  sorrow  over  my 
adventure  through  the  ice,  for  it  had  made 
me  give  her  up. 

That  night  I  told  Ralph  that  Florence 
loved  him,  and  how  I  knew.  It  was  a 
sublime  renunciation.  After  all,  what  is 
better  than  the  heart  of  a  decent  boy?  I 
wish  it  were  mine  again. 
48 


THE    TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

"I  love  her,  too,"  he  said,  "but  I  haven't 
dared  to  tell  her  of  it.  I'm  going  to  see  her 
now." 

After  that  Ralph  was  a  model  student 
and  a  warm  friend  of  mine. 


CHAPTER  IV 

FAIR-TIME  had  arrived.  The  Smead 
boys  had  worked  every  night  and 
morning  on  the  legs  and  body  of  that 
splendid  horse.  His  coat  was  satin,  and 
his  plumes  were  silk  when  he  went  out  of  the 
stable.  He  returned  dripping  with  sweat 
and  foam. 

I  wonder  what  Daniel  Webster  Smead 
would  have  accomplished  with  those  boys 
if  they  had  had  the  care  and  training  of  his 
"hoss."  But  they  were  only  descended 
from  Thankful  Smead  and  Remember  Baker 
and  Winfield  Scott,  and  what  was  that  in 
comparison  with  the  blood  of  Hambletonian 
X.? 

I  gave  to  Henry,  to  be  wagered,  a  part  of 
the  money  which  my  father  had  provided 
50 


THE   TURNING   OFGRIGGSBY 

for  the  term's  expenses.  Henry  promised 
that  he  would  surely  double  it,  and  that  is 
what  happened.  Montravers  won,  our 
pockets  bulged  with  money,  but  the  horse 
did  not  sell.  A  buyer  from  New  York 
made  an  offer,  which  was  refused.  Mr. 
Smead  informed  us  that  the  buyer  had 
said  that  if  Montravers  showed  that  he 
could  repeat  his  performance  the  price  was 
not  too  high.  Hope  realized  maketh  the 
heart  strong ;  and  our  imaginations,  lighted 
by  the  gleam  of  gold,  worked  far  into  the 
night  after  full  days  of  labor. 

The  next  week  the  stallion  was  entered 
at  Diddlebury.  Henry  and  I  were  going 
over  to  get  rich.  Early  in  the  morning 
of  the  race  we  skipped  school  and  took 
a  train  to  Diddlebury.  Such  riches  have 
never  come  to  me  as  we  had  in  our  minds 
that  morning.  We  considered  what  we 
should  do  with  the  money.  I  secretly 
decided  that  I  would  buy  a  diamond  ring 
for  Florence  Dunbar,  his  sister,  and  that, 
51 


THE    TURNING    OF  GRIGGSBY 

if  there  were  any  money  left,  I  would  give 
it  to  my  mother. 

Henry  had  his  mental  eye  on  a  ranch  in 
Texas,  near  his  father's — not  a  very  big  one 
—he  explained  to  me.  As  Henry  knew  the 
art  of  betting,  I  gave  all  my  money  to  him, 
except  a  dollar  and  fifty-four  cents. 

We  spent  the  morning  at  the  stables  by 
the  track,  and  endured  a  good  deal  of  abuse 
from  the  swipe  boys,  who  looked  down  upon 
us  from  that  upper  level  of  horsedom.  We 
knew  it  was  justified,  and  made  only  a  feeble 
response.  We  stood  near  with  eyes  and 
ears  of  envy  while  they  jested  with  many  a 
full  round  oath  of  their  night's  adventures. 
And  I  remember  that  one  of  them  called  to 
me: 

"Here,  sonny,  keep  away  fr'm  that  mare's 
legs.  She'll  kick  a  hole  in  ye.  If  she  don't 
I  will.  Come,  now,  take  a  walk.  Run 
home  to  yer  mammy." 

That  was  the  mildest  brand  of  scorn 
which  they  ladled  out  to  us  when  we  tried 
52 


THE    TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

to  show  our  familiarity  with  the  "trottin'- 
hoss."  We  found  the  stall  of  Montravers, 
but  the  trainer  would  not  have  us  there 
despite  our  friendship  for  the  owner. 
Driven  by  the  contempt  of  our  superiors 
from  this  part  of  the  grounds,  we  haunted 
the  rifle  ranges  and  the  gingerbread  and 
lemonade  stalls  until  the  grand  stand  was 
thrown  open.  Henry  left  me  for  a  while, 
and  on  his  return  said  that  he  had 
wagered  all  our  money  on  Montravers. 
I  sat  in  a  joyful  trance  until  the  bell 
rang. 

The  race  began  with  our  favorite  among 
the  five  leaders  of  a  large  field.  Suddenly 
the  sky  turned  black.  Montravers  had 
broken  and  begun  bucking,  and  acted  as 
though  he  wanted  to  kick.  He  fell  far 
behind,  and  when  the  red  flag  came  down 
before  him  and  shut  him  out  of  the  race, 
I  had  to  believe  it,  and  could  not.  It  was 
like  having  to  climb  a  tree  with  a  wolf 
coming,  and  no  tree  in  sight. 
53 


THE   TURNING    OF  GRIGGSBY 

Now,  the  truth  is,  Montravers  might 
have  won,  but  his  driver  sold  the  race,  as 
we  were  to  learn  by  and  by — sold  it  for  ten 
dollars  and  two  bottles  of  whisky.  He 
pulled  and  bedeviled  the  horse  until  the 
latter  showed  more  temper  than  speed. 
The  horse  made  every  effort  to  get  free  and 
head  the  procession.  He  was  on  the  square, 
that  horse,  but  the  ten-dollar  man  kept 
pulling.  The  horse  was  far  more  decent, 
more  honest,  more  human  than  his  driver; 
but  the  latter  blamed  the  horse,  and  the 
New-Yorker  got  him  for  a  thousand  dollars 
less  than  he  would  have  had  to  pay  by  any 
other  method. 

The  ten-dollar  man  proved  to  be  one  of 
the  few  philanthropists  in  Griggsby.  He 
became  one  of  the  great  educators  of  the 
village.  He  stood  by  the  gate  that  opened 
into  the  broad  way  of  leisure.  His  cheap 
venality  was  like  a  club  in  his  hands,  with 
which  he  smote  the  head  of  the  fool  and 
turned  him  back.  If  he  had  been  a  hun- 
54 


THE    TURNING    OFGRIGGSBY 

dred-dollar  man,  the  farms  of  the  county 
would  have  gone  to  weeds. 

Henry  and  I  had  only  twenty-four  cents 
between  us.  We  met  Mr.  Smead  coming 
from  the  stables.  He  was  awfully  cut  up,  in 
spite  of  that  happy  way  he  had  of  taking 
his  trouble.  We  soon  saw  that  something 
like  an  earthquake  had  happened  to  him. 

"My  education  is  complete,"  said  he, 
sadly.  "I  have  got  my  degree;  it  is  D.F. 
I  have  honestly  earned  it,  and  shall  seek 
new  worlds  to  conquer.  The  man  who 
mentions  hoss  to  me  after  this  day  shall 
perish  by  the  sword  of  my  wrath." 

He  carried  his  little  driving-whip  in  his 
hand. 

"I  have  sold  everything  but  this  whip," 
he  added ;  "  I  keep  that  as  a  souvenir  of  my 
school  days.  Boys,  are  you  ready  to  join 
me  in  a  life  of  industry?" 

"We  are,"  said  both  of  us,  in  concert. 

"Then,  in  the  language  of  D.  Webster, 
follow  me,  strike  down  yon  guard,  gain  the 
55 


THE    TURNING    OFGRIGGSBY 

highway,  an'  start  for  a  new  destination. 
Boys,  we  will  walk  home;  let  us  shake 
from  our  feet  the  dust  of  Diddlebury. " 

"We  have  got  to  walk,"  said  Henry. 
"We  lost  every  dollar  we  had  on  the  race." 

"We  are  all  of  equal  rank,"  said  Smead, 
with  a  smile.  "I  will  share  with  you  my 
distinction.  There  is  enough  of  it  for  all  of 
us.  Evenly  divided,  it  should  satisfy  the 
ambition  of  every  damn  fool  in  Vermont. 
Now  let  us  proceed  to  the  higher  walks  of 
life,  the  first  of  which  shall  be  the  walk  to 
Griggsby." 

The  sun  was  low  when,  beyond  the  last 
house  in  the  village  of  Diddlebury,  we  came 
out  on  the  turnpike  with  our  faces  set  in 
the  direction  of  Griggsby,  nine  miles  away 
—  and  destinations  far  better  and  more 
remote. 

Henry  and  I  were  weary,  but  the  talk  of 
Smead  helped  us  along. 

By  and  by  he  said:  "Boys,  as  workers 
of  iniquity  we  are  failures;  let  us  admit  it. 
56 


THE    TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

For  the  weak  the  competition  is  too  severe. 
The  ill  -  trained,  half  -  hearted,  third  -  rate, 
incompetent  criminal  is  no  good.  He  is 
respected  neither  by  God,  man,  nor  the 
devil.  Let's  be  respectable.  If  we  must 
have  something  for  nothing,  let's  go  to 
cuttin'  throats,  or  boldly  an'  openly  an' 
without  shame  go  into  the  railroad  business. 
Then  we  might  have  our  mansions,  our 
horses,  an'  our  hounds.  Whether  we  died 
in  bed  or  on  the  gallows,  we  should  be 
honored  in  song  an'  story,  like  Captain 
Kidd." 

He  gaily  sang  a  verse  of  the  ballad,  very 
familiar  in  the  days  of  which  I  am  telling : 

"Jim  Fisk  was  a  man,  wore  his  heart  on  his  sleeve, 

No  matter  what  people  might  say, 
And  he  did  all  his  deeds — both  the  good  and  the 

bad— 

In  the  broad,  open  light  of  the  day. 
If  a  man  was  in  trouble  Jim  helped  him  along 

To  drive  the  grim  wolf  from  the  door; 
He  often  did  right,  and  he  often  did  wrong, 
But  he  always  remembered  the  poor. 

5  57 


THE   TURNING   OFGRIGGSBY 

"That's  the  thing!"  he  went  on.  "Cut 
the  throats  of  the  people,  grab  a  million,  an' 
throw  back  a  thousand  for  charity. 

"As  it  is,  we  are  neither  fish,  flesh,  nor 
fowl.  Satan  scorns  our  aid.  I,  for  one, 
resent  it.  After  all,  a  man  of  my  gifts 
an'  attainments  deserves  some  recognition. 
Le's  resign  our  commissions  in  his  army  an' 
go  in  for  reform. 

' '  Le's  take  up  the  idee  o'  givin'  somethin' 
fer  somethin',  an'  see  how  that  '11  work. 
In  my  opinion,  it.  11  pay  better.  For  one 
thing,  we  shall  not  have  much  competition 
in  Griggsby.  Of  course,  there  are  the 
churches,  but  they  are  busy  with  the  sins 
of  the  Philistines  an'  Amalekites  an'  the 
distant  heathen. 

"Satan  has  made  Griggsby  his  head 
quarters  as  bein'  more  homelike  than  any 
other  part  of  the  universe.  That  is  the 
place  to  begin  operations.  We'll  be  lone 
some  an'  unpopular,  but  we'll  raze  hell — 
I  mean,  of  course,  that  we'll  cause  it  to  move 
58 


THE   TURNING   OFGRIGGSBY 

from  Griggsby.  There  is  nothing  else  for 
us  to  do.  We  are  driven  to  it.  Griggsby 
is  untouched;  it  is  virgin  soil.  As  we  have 
been  coming  along  I  have  been  counting 
on  my  fingers  the  young  men  of  good 
families  who  under  my  eye  have  gone  down 
to  untimely  an'  dishonored  graves  in  that 
little  village.  There  are  twenty-six  that 
I  can  think  of  who  have  followed  the  leading 
lights  to  perdition.  Of  course,  there  are 
more,  but  that  is  enough.  It's  a  ghastly 
harvest,  boys.  First,  we  will  attack  the 
leading  lights;  we  will  put  them  out." 

Henry  and  I  were  rather  deeply  impressed 
by  this  talk,  so  new,  so  different,  so  suited 
to  our  state  of  mind.  It  hit  us  straight  be 
tween  the  eyes. 

I  was  in  a  bad  way,  and  dreadfully  worried, 
without  a  cent  for  books  or  tuition  or  spend 
ing  money,  or  the  courage  to  appeal  to  my 
father. 

"I've  got  some  money  in  my  pocket, 
boys,"  he  went  on.  "If  I  could  only  buy 
59 


THE    TURNING    OF  GRIGGSBY 

The  Little  Corporal  [our  weekly  paper] 
it  would  be  just  the  jaw  bone  with  which 
to  slay  the  Philistines.  Wholesome  public 
ity  is  the  weapon  we  need.  With  it  we  could 
both  demolish  an'  build  up." 

Black  clouds  had  covered  the  sky,  and 
now  we  were  walking  in  darkness,  with  a 
damp  wind  coming  out  of  the  west.  We 
were  some  miles  from  the  village  of  Griggsby 
when  a  drenching  rain  began  to  fall.  We 
could  see  a  light  in  a  window  close  by  the 
road,  and  we  made  for  it. 

A  woman  timidly  opened  the  door  as  we 
rapped.  Smead  knew  her. 

"Sorry  to  trouble  you,  Mrs.  Bradshaw," 
said  he.  "Where  is  Bill?" 

"He  an'  Sam  Reynolds  went  over  to 
Diddlebury  Fair,"  said  she. 

"Well,  it  is  time  the  prize  pumpkins  were 
rollin'  home,"  said  Smead;  "but  I'm  'fraid 
we  have  rolled  about  as  far  as  we  can  to 
night.  A  heavy  rain  has  set  in,  an'  we're 
nearly  wet  through." 
60 


THE    TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

"We  ain't  much  to  offer  you,"  said  the 
woman,  "but  if  one  o'  you  can  sleep  with 
the  hired  man  there's  a  bed  for  the  other 
two  upstairs." 

"Do  you  think  the  hired  man  would 
sleep  with  me?"  asked  Smead,  in  playful 
astonishment. 

"I  guess  so,"  said  the  woman. 

"Well,  if  you  don't  think  he'd  be  offended, 
if  he  wouldn't  git  mad  an'  throw  me  out, 
I'd  take  it  as  a  great  compliment  to  sleep 
with  the  hired  man." 

The  woman  put  aside  her  sewing,  rose 
wearily,  lit  a  candle,  and  went  upstairs 
to  make  the  bed  for  Henry  and  me.  She 
moved  heavily  in  big  shoes.  Her  face  was 
pale  and  care-worn,  her  hands  were  knotted 
with  toil.  She  was  another  slave. 

"Her  girl  is  away  teaching  school,"  Smead 
explained  to  us.  "One  boy  has  worked  his 
way  to  the  grave — worn  out  as  ye'd  wear  out 
a  hoss.  Another  is  working  his  way  through 
college." 

61 


THE   TURNING   OFGRIGGSBY 

We  went  to  bed,  but  my  sorrows  kept  me 
awake.  Henry  and  I  discussed  them  in 
whispers  for  half  an  hour.  He  said  that  he 
felt  sure  his  sister  Florence  could  lend  us 
some  money.  Their  bank  account  was  in 
her  name. 

He  fell  asleep  by  and  by,  but  I  lay 
thinking  of  Florence  and  of  my  folly.  I 
could  hear  Mrs.  Bradshaw  singing  softly 
downstairs  as  she  rocked  in  her  sewing- 
chair.  Near  midnight  I  heard  a  carriage, 
and  soon  there  was  an  entrance  at  the  front 
door.  Then  I  heard  the  woman  speak  in  a 
low  tone,  and  the  angry  answer  of  the  man. 

Had  it  come  to  this,  he  said,  with  an  oath. 
A  man  couldn't  do  as  he  liked  in  his  own 
house  ?  He  would  see.  Then  he  proceeded 
to  break  the  furniture.  Oh,  the  men  were 
always  at  the  bat  in  those  days,  and  the 
women  chasing  the  ball! 

When  we  left  in  the  morning,  on  a  muddy 
road,  Mr.  Smead  said  to  us: 

"That  man  is  another  Simon  Legree. 
62 


THE    TURNING   OFGRIGGSBY 

The  women  are  mostly  slaves  about  here. 
If  they  could  have  their  way,  how  long  do 
you  suppose  the  leading  lights  would  be 
leading  us?  What  would  become  of  the 
trottin' -hoss  an'  the  half-mile  road  to 
bankruptcy,  an'  perdition  an'  the  red 
noses? 

"Now,  look  at  me.  I  went  an'  grabbed 
the  earnings  o'  my  wife  an'  children  an' 
staked  'em  on  a  hoss.  Not  that  I've  any 
thing  agin  the  hoss;  hosses  would  be  all 
right  if  it  wa'n't  for  their  associatin'  with 
men.  You  put  a  five-thousan'-dollar  hoss 
in  the  company  of  a  ten-dollar  man,  an' 
the  reputation  o'  the  hoss  is  bound  to  suffer. 
If  it's  hard  on  a  hoss,  it's  harder  on  a  woman. 

"Boys,  I  shall  not  buy  the  Corporal. 
I  shall  give  every  dollar  in  my  pocket  to 
Mrs.  Smead  an'  throw  in  myself.  It  ain't 
much,  but  it  may  be  more." 

That   week  he  lettered   a  placard  with 
great  pains,  and  had  it  framed  and  hung 
in  the  "  drawing-room,"  and  it  said: 
63 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

Proclamation  of  D.  W.  Smead: 

In  the  name  of  God,  amen.  I  hereby  declare 
my  wife  to  be  a  free  woman  and  entitled  to  the  rights 
of  a  human  being  in  my  home;  the  same  right  that  I 
have  to  be  wise  or  foolish.  She  shall  have  a  part  of 
the  money  that  she  earns  by  her  own  labor,  and  the 
right  to  rest  when  she  is  weary,  and  to  enjoy  a  share 
of  my  abundant  leisure.  All  persons  are  warned 
against  harboring  or  trusting  me  any  further  at  her 
expense. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  physical  as  well  as  the  mental  and 
1  moral  boundaries  of  the  community  of 
Griggsby,  in  northern  New  England,  were 
fitted  to  inspire  eloquence.  The  town  lay 
between  two  mountain  ranges  crowned  with 
primeval  forests,  and  near  the  shore  of  a 
beautiful  lake,  with  the  Canadian  line  a 
little  north  of  it.  There  lived  among  us 
a  lawyer  from  the  state  of  Maine  who  had 
sung  of  its  "forests,  lakes,  and  rivers,  and 
the  magnificent  sinuosities  of  its  coast,"  but 
he  had  been  silenced  by  Colonel  Buck- 
stone's  "towering,  cloud-capped,  evergreen 
galleries  above  the  silver  floor  of  our  noble 
lake." 

There  were  also  our  mental  and  moral 
boundaries;  on  the  east,  hard  times  and 
65 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

history;  on  the  west,  the  horse-traders  of 
York  State,  mingled  with  wild  animals  and 
backed  by  pathless  woods;  on  the  north, 
the  Declaration  of  Independence;  on  the 
south,  the  Democratic  party;  while  above 
was  a  very  difficult  heaven,  and  beneath  a 
wide  open  and  most  accessible  hell. 

Our  environment  had  some  element  that 
appealed  to  every  imagination,  and  was 
emphasized  by  the  solemn  responsibilities 
of  the  time.  Our  ancient  enemies  in  the 
South  had  begun  to  threaten  the  land  under 
the  leadership  of  Seymour  and  Blair.  The 
oratory  of  New  England  was  sorely  taxed. 

My  own  imagination  had  been  touched 
by  all  these  influences,  and  by  another — 
the  dear  and  beautiful  girl  of  whom  I  have 
said  not  half  enough.  There  was  no  flower 
in  all  the  gardens  of  Griggsby  so  graceful 
in  form  or  so  beautiful  in  color  as  Florence 
Dunbar.  I  felt  a  touch  of  the  tender  pas 
sion  every  time  I  looked  into  her  eyes. 
No,  she  was  not  of  the  "sweet  Alice"  type; 
66 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

she  was  too  full-blooded  and  strong-armed 
for  that.  She  never  entered  a  churchyard 
without  being  able  to  walk  out  of  it,  and  if 
she  had  loved  "Ben  Bolt"  she  would  have 
got  him,  to  his  great  happiness  and  ad 
vantage.  She  was  a  modest,  fun-loving, 
red-cheeked,  sweet-souled  girl,  with  golden 
hair  and  hazel  eyes,  and  seventeen  when 
first  I  saw  her.  Candor  compels  me  to 
admit  that  she  had  a  few  freckles,  but  I 
remember  that  I  liked  the  look  of  them; 
they  had  come  of  the  wind  and  the  sunlight. 
The  father  of  my  chum  Henry  and  his 
sister  Florence  had  gone  West  from  Griggsby 
with  his  bride  in  the  early  fifties,  and  had 
made  a  fortune.  Florence  and  her  brother 
had  grown  up  on  a  ranch,  and  had  been  sent 
back  to  enjoy  the  educational  disadvantages 
of  Griggsby.  They  could  ride  like  Indians, 
and  their  shooting  had  filled  us  with  as 
tonishment.  With  a  revolver  Florence 
could  hit  a  half  dollar  thrown  in  the  air 
before  it  touched  the  ground. 
67 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

Her  brother  Henry  was  two  years  older, 
and  as  many  inches  taller  than  I,  and  always 
in  my  company,  as  I  have  said.  He  had 
begun  to  emulate  the  leading  lights  of  the 
neighborhood.  He  and  Ralph  Buckstone, 
the  handsome  and  gifted  son  of  the  great 
Colonel,  were  friends  and  boon  companions. 

Having  been  chastened  by  misfortune,  like 
the  great  Dan'l  Webster  Smead,  and  being 
in  dire  need  of  money,  Henry  and  I  went 
straight  to  Florence's  room  the  morning  of 
our  return  from  the  horse  races  at  Diddle- 
bury,  and  confessed  our  ruin  and  the  folly 
that  had  led  to  it.  Henry  urged  me  to  do 
it,  and  said  that  he  would  do  all  the  talking, 
for  I  told  him  that  I  would  ask  no  favor  of 
Florence — coward  that  I  was. 

She  was  kind,  but  she  added  to  our  con 
viction  of  guilt  a  sense  of  idiocy  which  was 
hard  to  bear.  I  secretly  resolved  to  keep 
my  brain  unspotted  by  suspicion  thereafter, 
whatever  might  happen  to  my  soul.  We 
gladly  promised  to  be  good.  We  would 
68 


THE    TURNING   OFGRIGGSBY 

have  given  our  notes  for  a  million  acts  of 
virtue. 

"We  are  for  reform,"  I  assured  her. 
"Henry  and  Mr.  Smead  and  I  have  had  a 
long  talk  about  ourselves  and  the  village. 
We  are  going  to  do  what  we  can  to  improve 
the  place.  He  spoke  of  buying  The  Little 
Corporal  and  drowning  out  the  gamblers 
and  drunkards  with  publicity." 

"That  would  be  fun!"  she  exclaimed.  "I 
will  write  to  my  father  about  that.  Maybe 
it's  lucky  after  all  that  you  have  had  this 
trouble.  I  am  grateful  to  you,  Havelock, 
and  I  am  going  to  help  you,  but  you — 

She  hesitated,  and  I  was  quick  to  say: 

"I  will  not  take  your  help  unless  you  will 
let  me  return  the  money.  I  can  work 
Saturdays  in  the  mill  and  do  it." 

"Oh,  don't  think  of  it  again!"  she  said, 
with  sympathy. 

"I  must  think  of  it,"  was  my  answer, 
"and  with  God's  help  I  will  not  be  so  un 
fair  to  you  again." 

69 


THE   TURNING    OF  GRIGGSBY 

She  did  not  know  how  deeply  I  felt  the 
words,  and  added: 

"I  am  afraid  that  Mr.  Hall  may  send  you 
both  home." 

That,  indeed,  was  our  great  fear. 

I  have  tried  to  make  it  clear  that  there 
were  some  good  men  in  Griggsby;  and  I 
must  not  fail  to  tell  of  one  of  them,  the 
Rev.  Appleton  Hall,  head  of  the  academy,  a 
plain,  simple,  modest  citizen.  What  a 
splendid  figure  of  a  man  he  was — big,  strong- 
armed,  hard-handed,  with  black  eyes  and  a 
beautiful,  great  head  crowned  with  a  wavy 
mass  of  blonde  hair.  That  and  its  heavy, 
curling  beard  were  as  yellow  as  fine  gold. 
What  a  tower  of  rugged  strength  and 
fatherly  kindness!  We  loved  the  touch  of 
his  hand  and  the  sound  of  his  voice — when 
we  did  not  fear  them.  As  he  stood  with 
his  feet  in  the  soil  of  his  garden  and  his 
collar  loose  at  his  throat  he  reminded  me 
of  that  man  of  old  of  whom  it  was  written: 
"A  thousand  shall  fall  at  thy  side,  and  ten 
70 


THE   TURNING   OFGRIGGSBY 

thousand  at  thy  right  hand;  but  it  shall 
not  come  nigh  thee." 

He  fought  against  the  powers  of  darkness 
for  the  sake  of  the  boys.  He  was  handi 
capped;  he  could  not  denounce  the  great 
men  of  the  village  by  name  as  pestilential 
enemies  of  decency  and  order.  Perhaps 
that  should  have  been  done  by  the  churches. 
Old  "App"  Hall,  as  some  called  him, 
warned  and  watched  us ;  but,  with  his  rugged 
figure,  his  old-fashioned  clothes,  and  his 
farmer  dialect,  he  had  not  the  appeal — the 
dazzling  appeal  of  Websterians  like  Griggs 
and  Colonel  Buckstone.  However,  there 
was  something  fatherly  about  him  that 
made  it  easy  to  confess  both  our  truancy 
and  our  money  loss.  Of  course,  he  forgave 
us,  but  with  stern  advice,  which  did  not  get 
under  our  jackets,  as  had  that  of  Dan'l 
Webster  Smead.  He  said  we  were  fools; 
but  we  knew  that,  and  would  have  admitted 
more. 

I  began  to  attend  to  business  as  a  student, 


THE    TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

but  Henry  went  on  with  his  skylarking. 
Dan'l  Webster  Smead  went  to  work  buying 
produce  for  the  Boston  market,  and  spent 
every  evening  at  home.  He  got  his  wife  a 
hired  girl,  and  the  poor  woman  soon  had  a 
happier  look  in  her  face.  The  children 
wore  new  clothes,  and  a  touch  of  the  buoy 
ant  spirit  of  the  racer  Montravers,  now  cast 
out  of  his  life,  soon  entered  the  home  of 
Smead. 

Ralph  Buckstone  and  I  had  become  the 
special  favorites  of  Appleton  Hall.  Florence 
had  managed  to  keep  me  out  of  mischief  for 
some  time.  Naturally,  my  love  for  her  had 
led  to  the  love  of  decency  and  honor,  which 
meant  that  I  must  do  the  work  set  before 
me  and  keep  on  fairly  good  terms  with  my 
self.  It  was  Florence,  I  am  sure,  who  had 
had  a  like  effect  upon  Ralph.  We  took  no 
part,  thereafter,  in  the  ranker  deviltry  of 
the  boys  and  did  fairly  good  work  in  school. 

One  evening  Ralph  came  to  my  room  and 
told  me  that  he  had  had  a  quarrel  with  his 
72 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

father.  It  seemed  that  a  clever  remark 
of  Florence  about  the  last  spree  of  the 
Colonel  had  reached  his  ears.  The  Colonel, 
boiling  with  indignation,  had  made  some 
slighting  reference  to  her  and  all  other 
women  in  the  presence  of  his  son.  High 
words  and  worse  had  followed,  in  the  course 
of  which  the  sacred,  gold-headed  cane  of  the 
Colonel,  presented  to  him  by  the  Republican 
electors  of  the  town,  had  been  splintered  in  a 
violent  gesture.  The  cane  had  been  used, 
not  for  assault,  but  for  emphasis.  Ralph 
had  been  blamed  by  the  Colonel  for  the 
loss  of  his  temper  and  the  loss  of  his  cane. 
The  great  man  might  have  forgiven  the 
former,  but  the  latter  went  beyond  his 
power  of  endurance.  So  he  turned  the  boy 
out  of  doors,  and  Ralph  came  directly  to 
my  room,  where  his  father  found  and  for 
gave  him  with  great  dignity  in  the  morn 
ing,  and  bade  him  return  to  his  home. 

There  was  some  drunken  brawling  in  the 
streets    by  night,   and    now  and    then   a 
6  73 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

memorable  battle,  followed  by  prosecution 
and  repairs.  About  then  Appleton  Hall 
gave  a  lecture  on  the  morals  of  Griggsby, 
which  was  the  talk  of  the  school  and  the 
village  for  a  month  or  more.  In  it  were 
the  words  about  Daniel  Webster  and  the 
first  Bunker  Hill  oration  which  I  quoted  at 
the  beginning  of  this  little  history.  People 
began  to  wake  up. 

Our  preachers  came  back  from  Samaria 
and  Egypt,  "from  Africa's  sunny  fountains 
and  India's  coral  strands,"  and  began  to 
think  about  Griggsby.  At  last  they  seemed 
to  recognize  that  foreign  heathens  were 
inferior  to  the  home-made  article ;  that  they 
were  not  to  be  compared  with  the  latter 
in  finish  and  general  efficiency.  They 
turned  their  cannons  of  oratory  and  al 
tered  the  range  of  their  fire.  A  public 
meeting  was  held  in  the  town  hall,  and  the 
curses  of  the  village  were  discussed  and 
berated.  A  chapter  of  the  Cadets  of 
Temperance  was  organized,  and  Ralph  and 
74 


THE   TURNING   OFGRIGGSBY 

I  joined.  We  carried  torch  lights  in  a  small 
procession  led  by  Samantha  Simpson,  and 
cheered  and  shouted  and  had  a  grand  time; 
but  we  failed  to  overawe  the  enemy.  Noth 
ing  resulted  that  could  be  discerned  by  the 
naked  contemporary  eye  save  the  ridicule 
that  was  heaped  upon  us.  If  one  wanted  to 
create  a  laugh  in  a  public  speech  he  would 
playfully  refer  to  the  Cadets  of  Temper 
ance.  Good  people  were  wont  to  say, 
"What's  the  use?" 

The  people  are  a  patient  ox.  A  big 
woolen  mill  polluted  the  stream  that  flowed 
through  the  village.  It  was  our  main  water 
supply.  The  people  permitted  the  pollu 
tion  until  the  water  was  not  fit  to  use.  Then 
they  went  back  to  the  wells  and  springs  again. 
There  was  some  futile  talk  about  the  shame 
of  it.  Letters  of  complaint  were  printed 
in  The  Little  Corporal,  our  local  paper. 
By  and  by  a  meeting  was  held  and  a  com 
mittee  appointed  to  see  what  could  be  done. 
They  made  sundry  suggestions,  most  of 
75 


THE    TURNING    OF  GRIGGSBY 

which  were  ridiculed,  and  the  committee 
succeeded  only  in  getting  themselves  dis 
liked. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  leading  merchants 
and  lawyers,  and  even  the  churches,  derived 
a  profit  from  the  presence  of  the  woolen 
mill.  Then,  too,  about  every  man  in 
Griggsby  had  his  own  imperishable  views, 
and  loved  to  ridicule  those  of  his  neighbor. 
Indolence,  jealousy,  and  conceit  were  piled 
in  the  path  of  reform,  which  was  already 
filled  with  obstacles. 

Now,  in  those  evil  days  a  thing  happened 
which  I  wish  it  were  not  my  duty  to  recall. 
Unpleasant  gossip  had  gone  about  concern 
ing  Florence  and  me.  As  to  its  source  I 
had  my  suspicions.  Colonel  Buckstone  had 
seen  us  sitting  together  by  the  roadside 
adjoining  the  meadow  where  we  had  gath 
ered  flowers.  To  Colonel  Buckstone  that 
was  a  serious  matter,  especially  in  view  of 
the  fact  that  Florence  had  expressed  strong 
disapproval  of  his  general  conduct.  Men 
76 


THE   TURNING   OFGRIGGSBY 

like  him  are  ever  trying  to  hold  the  world 
in  leash  and  to  pull  it  back  to  the  plane 
of  their  own  morals. 

Griggsby  was  like  most  country  towns. 
The  county  fair  had  passed;  the  trotters 
had  retired;  Colonel  Buckstone  had  not 
slid  off  his  eminence  for  some  time,  and  the 
material  for  conversation  had  run  low; 
somebody  had  to  be  sacrificed.  The  in 
ventive  talent  of  the  village  got  busy.  It 
needed  a  gay  Lothario,  and  I  was  nominated 
and  elected  without  opposition,  save  that  of 
my  own  face.  It  ought  to  have  turned  the 
tide,  but  it  did  not.  My  decency  was  all 
assumed.  At  heart  I  was  a  base  and  subtle 
villain. 

Florence  naturally  turned  to  me  for  ad 
vice,  and  I  felt  the  situation  bitterly. 

"You  poor  thing!"  said  she,  with  a  tear 
ful  laugh.  "I'm  sorry  for  you,  but  don't 
worry.  Your  honor  shall  be  vindicated." 

"I'll  fight  the  Colonel,"  I  said. 

"You  shall  not  fight  him,"  said  she.  "Go 
77 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

and  fight  somebody  else.  I  want  to  save 
him  for  myself." 

That  is  the  way  she  took  it,  bravely, 
calmly.  She  did  not  ask  any  one  to  be 
sony  for  her.  A  less  courageous  spirit 
would  have  given  up  and  gone  home  in 
disgust;  but  she  stood  her  ground,  with  the 
fatherly  encouragement  of  Appleton  Hall, 
and  stored  the  lightning  that  by  and  by  was 
to  fall  from  her  hand  upon  the  appalled 
citizens  of  Griggsby. 

I  was  at  work  in  my  room  one  evening 
when  Dan'l  Webster  Smead  came  to  my 
door. 

"Florence  Dunbar  and  a  friend  have 
called  to  see  you,"  he  said.  "They  are 
waiting  in  the  parlor." 

I  went  down  to  meet  them  at  once. 
Florence  and  Miss  Elizabeth  Collins,  Colonel 
Buckstone's  stenographer,  rose  to  greet  me. 

Neither  I  nor  any  other  man  knew  at  that 
time  that  Florence  had  done  her  family  a 
great  favor  when  the  Collins  home  had 
78 


THE   TURNING   OFGRIGGSBY 

been  threatened  by  a  mortgage.  Years 
after  it  helped  me  to  understand  the  con 
duct  of  Elizabeth.  In  a  moment  I  had  heard 
their  story. 

Before  going  home  that  evening  the 
Colonel  had  dictated  a  letter  to  Roswell 
Dunbar,  Florence's  father,  calculated  to 
fill  his  mind  with  alarm  and  cause  him  to 
recall  her  from  Griggsby.  Miss  Collins 
had  left  the  office  with  her  employer,  who 
had  put  the  letter  with  others  in  his  over 
coat  pocket,  intending  to  mail  them  in  the 
morning,  the  post  office  having  closed  for 
the  night.  She  said  that  the  Colonel  had 
been  imbibing  freely  that  day  and  had 
gone  to  the  Palace  Hotel  for  supper. 

"I  have  decided  to  start  for  home  in  the 
morning,"  said  Florence.  "I  must  reach 
there  before  the  letter  does,  and  probably  I 
shall  not  come  back." 

"Don't  go,"  I  said.  "I'll  attend  to  the 
letter." 

"How?"  she  asked. 
79 


THE    TURNING   OFGRIGGSBY 

"I  don't  know,  but  in  some  way,"  I  said, 
with  the  strong  confidence  of  youth  in  its 
own  capacity.  "I  only  ask  that  you  give 
me  permission  to  consult  my  friend  Dan'l 
Webster  Smead  in  strict  confidence.  It 
won't  do  to  let  the  Colonel  drive  us  out 
of  town.  He  is  the  one  to  be  driven 
out." 

Florence  agreed  with  me,  and  I  walked 
home  with  the  girls,  and  left  them  in  a 
better  frame  of  mind. 

I  asked  Smead  to  come  to  my  room  with 
me,  and  laid  the  facts  before  him.  He  sat 
smoking  thoughtfully,  and  said  not  a  word 
until  I  had  finished.  Then  he  said  in  that 
slow  drawl  of  his: 

"I  take  it  that  you  are  willing  to  suffer, 
if  need  be,  for  the  sake  of  decency  and  fair 
women." 

"I  am,"  was  my  response. 

"Then  again  I  ask  you  to  follow  me,"  he 
said,  rising;  and  together  we  left  his  house 
as  the  old  town  clock  was  striking  nine. 
80 


THE    TURNING    OFGRIGGSBY 

Mr.  Smead  wore  his  great  overcoat  with 
its  fur  collar  and  cuffs. 

"The  Colonel  has  often  admired  it," 
said  he.  "He's  a  great  swapper  when  he's 
drinking,  and  perhaps — " 

"I  shall  fight  the  Colonel,  if  necessary,"  I 
suggested. 

' '  Hush,  boy !  Let  us  first  try  eloquence, ' ' 
said  he.  "It  is  only  the  vulgar  mind  that 
resorts  to  muscle  when  the  tongue  may  do  as 
well.  Eloquence,  my  dear  boy,  is  the 
jimmy  of  Griggsby ;  it  is  also  the  gold  brick, 
the  giant  powder,  the  nitroglycerin  of  Griggs 
by.  Let  us  see  what  it  can  accomplish." 

We  went  on  in  silence,  and  soon  heard 
sounds  of  revelry  in  a  bar-room.  We 
stopped  and  listened  a  moment,  after  which 
he  led  me  farther  up  the  street. 

"The  Colonel  began  to  slide  from  his 
eminence  to-day,"  my  companion  whis 
pered.  "I  doubt  not  he  is  still  sliding,  and 
what  I  hope  to  hear  are  sundry  deep-voiced 
remarks  about  the  '  witchin'  hour  of  night.' " 
81 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

We  came  soon  to  the  lighted  windows  of 
the  Palace  Hotel,  through  which  a  loud 
and  mirthful  joy  floated  into  the  still 
night.  We  listened  again.  I  could  hear 
the  rumbling  words,  ' '  When  church 
yards  yawn  and  graves  give  up  their 
dead." 

"Those  graves  and  churchyards  are 
counterfeit , ' '  Smead  whispered .  ' '  They  have 
not  the  Buckstonian  ring  to  them.  Let's 
go  in  for  a  minute. 

We  entered.  About  the  stove  in  the 
office  was  the  usual  crowd  of  horsemen 
with  meerschaum  pipes.  I  took  the  only 
vacant  chair  by  the  side  of  a  maudlin  old 
soldier  who  did  chores  for  his  keep,  and  who 
addressed  me  with  incoherent  mumbles. 
The  air  was  heavy  with  tobacco  smoke 
and  the  odor  of  rum  and  molasses.  "Rat" 
Emerson,  a  driver,  was  telling  how  he  had 
worn  out  a  faster  horse  than  his  in  the 
scoring  and  won  a  race.  Through  the  open 
door  of  the  bar-room  I  could  see  a  man  with 
82 


THE   TURNING   OFGRIGGSBY 

his  glass  raised,  and  hear  him  saying  in  a 
stentorian  tone: 

"Ye  call  me  chief,  and  ye  do  well  to  call  him  chief 
who  for  twelve  long  years  has  met  upon  the  arena 
every  shape  of  man  or  beast  the  broad  empire  of  Rome 
could  furnish,  and  who  never  yet  lowered  his  arm." 

This  tournament  of  orators  was  inter 
rupted  by  Smead,  who  was  suddenly  and 
almost  simultaneously  embraced  by  every 
member  of  the  group,  while  the  barkeeper 
was  preparing  to  minister  to  his  needs. 

"Again  I  am  in  the  grasp  of  the  octopus 
of  intemperance,"  I  heard  Smead  say, 
whereat  the  others  roared  with  laughter. 

Soon  he  disengaged  himself,  and  I  saw  him 
speaking  to  the  bartender.  In  a  moment  he 
came  out,  and  we  left  the  place  together. 

"Colonel  Buckstone  is  taking  the  nine- 
thirty  train  to  St.  Johnstown,"  he  whis 
pered.  "We  must  hurry  and  get  aboard. 
There  is  yet  time." 

We  ran  to  the  depot  and  caught  the  train. 
Colonel  Buckstone  sat  near  the  center  of 
83 


THE   TURNING   OF   GRIGGSBY 

the  smoking-car  with  Thurst  Giles,  a  town 
drunkard,  of  Griggsby.  Fortunately,  we 
got  a  seat  just  behind  them.  I  remember 
that,  of  the  two,  Thurst  was  much  the 
soberer.  Shabby  and  unshaven,  he  was  an 
odd  sort  of  extravagance  for  the  imposing 
Colonel  to  be  indulging  in.  The  latter  was 
arrayed  in  broadcloth  and  fine  linen,  and 
crowned  with  a  beaver  hat. 

"Giles,  I  like  you,"  said  Buckstone,  in  a 
thick,  maudlin  voice;  "but,  sir,  I  feel  con 
strained  to  remind  you  that  in  the  matter 
of  dress  and  conduct  you  are  damnably 
careless.  You,  sir,  are  in  the  unfortunate 
position  of  a  man  climbing  to  a  great  height. 
You  are  all  right  as  long  as  you  do  not  look 
down." 

Giles  laughed,  as  did  others  near  them. 

"But  be  of  good  cheer,"  the  Colonel  went 
on,  as  he  passed  him  a  roll  of  greenbacks. 
' '  I  appoint  you  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer, 
and  shall  at  once  look  after  the  improve 
ment  of  your  person.  All  I  demand  of  you 
84 


THE    TURNING   OF  GR1GGSBY 

is  that  you  pay  the  bills  and  keep  sober,  sir. 
Do  not  worry  about  me,  but  rest  assured 
that  I  can  drink  enough  for  both  of  us,  and 
that  your  occupation  as  paymaster  will  be 
sufficient." 

A  farmer  with  a  long  beard  was  passing 
down  the  aisle  of  the  car. 

"My  friend,  your  beard  annoys  me,"  said 
the  Colonel.  "Are  you  much  attached 
to  it?" 

"No;  it's  attached  to  me,"  the  farmer 
answered,  as  he  stopped  and  looked  at  the 
statesman  in  a  flurry  of  laughter. 

"If  you  don't  mind,  sir,  I  presume  that 
it  wouldn't  hurt  the  feelings  of  your  beard 
to  part  with  you.  Please  have  it  removed. 
It  makes  me  nervous." 

"I'll  have  it  cut  and  boxed  and  shipped 
to  you,"  said  the  farmer. 

"Giles,  give  the  gentleman  ten  dollars, 
and  take  his  note  payable  in  whiskers,"  the 
statesman  directed. 

At  the  next  station  a  number  entered  the 
85 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

car,  and  among  them  was  the  Websterian 
form  of  John  Henry  Griggs,  with  its  stove 
pipe  hat  and  gold-headed  cane. 

"Hello,  Senator.  Would  you  allow  me 
to  look  at  your  hat?"  the  Colonel  demanded 
of  him. 

"Certainly,"  said  the  gentleman  ad 
dressed,  as  he  laughingly  passed  his  beaver 
to  the  Colonel,  having  halted  by  the  seat 
of  the  latter. 

The  Colonel  examined  it  critically,  and 
asked,  "How  much  will  you  take  for  it?" 

"Well,  to-night  it's  a  pretty  valuable 
hat,"  said  the  other.  "I  wouldn't  care  to 
take  less  than  twenty-five  dollars  for  it." 

"And  it  is  easily  worth  that  to  my  needy 
friend  here,  who  seeks  admittance  to  the 
higher  circles  of  society,"  the  Colonel  an 
swered.  "Giles,  you  will  kindly  settle 
with  the  Senator." 

Giles  paid  for  the  hat,  and  was  promptly 
crowned  with  it,  to  the  great  amusement 
of  every  occupant  of  the  car.  The  big 
86 


THE   TURNING   OF  GR'GGSBY 

beaver  came  down  upon  his  ears  and  settled 
until  its  after  part  rested  on  his  coat  collar. 
The  Colonel  passed  his  gold-headed  cane 
to  his  new  friend,  singing  as  he  did  so : 

"He  often  did  right,  and  he  often  did  wrong, 
But  he  always  remembered  the  poor." 

When  the  noisy  laughter  had  subsided 
he  shrewdly  remarked  to  the  passive  Giles: 

"Now,  sir,  you  have  the  prime  essentials 
of  respectability." 

"I  feel  like  a  d—  -  fool,"  Giles  protested. 

"Never  mind  your  feelings,"  said  the 
Colonel.  "Take  care  of  your  looks,  and 
your  feelings  will  take  care  of  themselves." 

At  the  next  station  a  man  entered  the  car 
leading  a  lank  hound. 

"How  much  for  your  dog?"  the  Colonel 
demanded. 

"Ten  dollars." 

"Make  it  fifteen,  and  I'll  take  him.  I 
don't  want  a  dog  that's  worth  less  than 
fifteen  dollars." 

87 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

"All  right!" 

' '  Mr.  Giles,  kindly  settle  with  the  gentle 
man." 

The  hound  was  paid  for,  and  Giles 
promptly  took  possession  of  him. 

"That  is  the  Colonel's  way  of  advertis 
ing,"  Smead  whispered  to  me.  "When  he 
buys  anything  of  a  farmer  he  always  over 
pays  him,  and  the  farmer  never  ceases  to 
talk  about  it." 

In  the  lull  that  followed  Smead  rose  and 
showed  himself  to  the  Colonel. 

"Ha!  There  is  Senator  Smead  and  his 
famous  overcoat,"  was  Buckstone's  greeting. 

"That  coat  has  always  worried  me.  In 
all  my  plans  for  the  improvement  of  Griggs- 
by  that  overcoat  has  figured  more  or  less. 
What  will  you  take  for  it?" 

Smead  drew  off  his  coat,  which  had  a 
rolling  collar  of  brown  fur. 

"I  should  not  care  to  sell  it,"  said  Smead, 
"but  I  will  trade  even  for  yours." 

"Anything  for  the  good  of  the  old  town," 
88 


GILES   WAS    AN    EPIC    I-K1CRE 


THE    TURNING   OFGRIGGSBY 

said  the  obliging  Colonel,  as  they  exchanged 
overcoats. 

In  a  moment  each  had  put  on  his  new  coat. 

"Here,  I  don't  want  your  gloves,"  said 
Buckstone,  as  he  drew  them  out  of  a  side 
pocket. 

I  observed  that  Smead  had  been  feeling 
the  contents  of  his  coat. 

' '  Keep  them, ' '  said  he.  "  You  shall  have 
all  that  my  coat  contained,  and  I  shall 
claim  all  that  was  in  yours." 

The  train  entered  the  depot  at  St.  Johns 
town. 

The  Colonel  and  his  new  secretary  fol 
lowed  the  crowd  to  the  station  platform. 
Giles,  in  big  boots  and  patched  and  thread 
bare  garments,  his  big  beaver  hat  resting 
on  his  ears,  with  the  Colonel's  bag  in  one 
hand  while  the  other  held  his  gold-headed 
cane  and  the  leash  of  the  lank  and  wistful 
hound,  was  an  epic  figure.  I  doubt  if 
Colonel  Buckstone  could  have  had  a  more 
able  assistant  in  the  task  which  lay  before 
7  89 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

him  that  night,  for  in  his  lighter  moods 
the  Colonel  was  a  most  industrious  merry 
maker.  We  saw  them  buying  another  dog 
on  the  station  platform,  and  presently  they 
started  for  an  inn,  with  two  quarreling  dogs 
and  the  bag  and  the  gold-headed  cane  and 
the  beaver  hat,  all  in  the  possession  of  the 
faithful  Giles. 

"I  have  secured  the  letters,"  said  Smead. 
"As  I  suspected,  they  were  in  a  pocket  of 
this  overcoat,  and  we  can  return  to  Griggsby 
by  the  midnight  train;  you  must  never 
tell  what  you  know  of  this — not  a  word,  not 
a  syllable.  He  will  land  in  New  York  in  a 
day  or  two — always  points  that  way  when 
he's  drinking — and  will  not  think  of  the 
letter  for  weeks,  anyhow.  Tell  Florence 
to  write  to  her  father  and  explain  the 
Colonel's  rage.  That  will  take  the  edge  off 
his  razor." 

I  promised,  and  we  were  soon  riding  back 
to  Griggsby.  It  was  a  sleepless  but  a  happy 
and  wonderful  night  for  me  and  Mr.  Smead. 
90 


THE   TURNING   OFGRIGGSBY 

Early  in  the  morning  he  went  to  the  dormi 
tory  with  a  note  that  I  had  written  to 
Florence.  When  I  met  her  she  took  my 
hand,  but  did  not  speak.  I  knew  why. 
For  a  long  minute  we  walked  together  in 
silence;  then  she  said,  rather  brokenly: 

"Havelock,  you  are  the  most  wonderful 
boy  that  I  ever  met,  and  I  owe  you  every 
thing.  What  can  I  do  for  you?" 

The  words  were  a  new  blow  to  me,  for, 
as  the  reader  will  understand,  they  put  her 
farther  away. 

"Please  take  that  back,"  I  said,  almost 
woefully.  "Please  do  not  think  that  you 
owe  me  anything.  I  don't  want  you  to  feel 
that  way.  I  didn't—" 

I  was  about  to  say  that  it  was  not  I  who 
had  obtained  the  letter  from  the  Colonel, 
but  I  halted,  suddenly  remembering  my 
promise. 

"You  strange,  modest  boy!"  she  ex 
claimed.  "Don't  you  want  me  to  be 
grateful  to  you?" 


THE    TURNING   OFGRIGGSBY 

"Florence,"  I  said,  with  all  the  seriousness 
of  my  nature,  "I'd  almost  rather  you'd 
hate  me." 

I  have  never  forgotten  the  look  in  her 
face  then,  and  how  quickly  it  changed  color. 
A  sorry  fool  I  was  not  to  have  understood 
it;  but,  then,  what  did  I  know  about  women? 
She,  too,  knew  as  little  of  the  heart  of  a 
Puritan  lad  who  had  grown  up  in  the  edge 
of  a  wilderness. 

A  few  days  later  the  ragged  Giles  walked 
into  Griggsby  with  a  battered  beaver  hat 
on  his  head  and  a  gold-headed  cane  in  his 
left  hand,  while  with  his  right  he  wielded 
a  bull  whip  over  the  backs  of  a  pair  of  oxen 
which  the  Colonel  had  purchased. 


CHAPTER  VI 

DAN'L  WEBSTER  SMEAD  was  right. 
Colonel  Buckstone  went  to  New  York, 
and  Ralph  joined  him  there.  Weeks  passed, 
and  they  were  still  absent.  Then  the  truth 
came  to  me  and  to  Florence  in  a  letter  from 
Ralph,  which  she  asked  me  to  read.  It  ran 
as  follows : 

' '  DEAREST  FLORENCE, — I'm  having  a  hard 
time  with  the  governor.  I  want  you  to 
know  that  I  do  not  believe  a  word  of  all 
I've  heard  about  you,  and  that  I  shall  never 
care  about  anybody  else.  I'm  going  to 
England  with  my  aunt.  Dad  suddenly 
decided  that  for  me  here  in  New  York,  and 
we've  had  an  awful  row.  It  seems  as  if  I 
ought  to  be  there  with  you,  but  I  can't. 
Luck  is  against  me.  I  should  have  to  walk 
93 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

to  Griggsby  and  go  to  work  for  my  living, 
for  I  should  have  no  home.  Don't  worry; 
everything  will  come  out  all  right.  Dad 
says  I  may  write  to  you  and  come  home  in  a 
year.  What  do  we  care  what  people  say  so 
long  as  we  are  true  to  each  other,  which  I 
will  always  be.  Dad  says  that  Henry  is 
leading  me  astray.  What  do  you  think  of 
that?" 

Then  he  added  his  signature  and  his 
London  address. 

The  girl  was  game.  Her  eyes  flashed  with 
indignation. 

"Never  mind,"  said  she;  "my  turn  will 
come  by  and  by." 

She  said  that  she  had  written  to  Ralph; 
and  I  knew,  without  saying  it,  that  he  would 
receive  no  letter  from  her,  for  I  suspected 
that  the  cunning  old  politician  would  have 
laid  his  plans  to  discourage  him  with  her 
silence.  Two  other  letters  came  from  Ralph, 
the  last  of  which  complained  of  what  he 
called  "her  indifference";  and,  although  I 
94 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

wrote  him,  as  did  she,  again  and  again,  I 
happen  to  know  that  Ralph  looked  in  vain 
for  a  letter. 

Yes,  it  was  the  old,  old  plan,  and  easier 
managed  in  those  days,  when  England  was 
very  far  from  us  and  one  who  had  crossed 
the  ocean  was  a  curiosity. 

"Ralph  ain't  the  right  timber  for  a  hero," 
said  Smead,  as  we  sat  together  one  day. 
"He  won't  do." 

"Why  not?"  I  asked. 

"Too  easily  bamboozled.  For  one  thing, 
a  hero  has  got  to  be  bigger  than  his  father, 
especially  when  his  father  is  only  knee-high 
to  a  johnny  cake.  If  I  were  young  an'  full 
o'  vinegar,  I'd  jump  in  an'  cut  him  out." 

I  made  no  answer. 

"You're  a  good  jumper,"  he  suggested; 
"why  don't  ye  jump  for  this  big  prize?  The 
girl  has  beauty  an'  character  an'  wit  an' 
wealth.  Don't  be  afraid;  hop  in  an' take  her." 

"It's   impossible,"    I   said.     "She   don't 
care  for  me;  but  that's  only  one  reason." 
95 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

"Nonsense!"  he  exclaimed. 

"She  told  me  so,"  I  insisted. 

"Young  man,  I  maintain  that  a  lady 
cannot  lie ;  but  it  ain't  always  best  to  believe 
her.  You  didn't  expect  that  she  was  goin' 
to  toss  her  heart  into  your  lap  at  the  first 
bid,  did  ye?  They  don't  do  that,  not  if 
they  're  real  cunnin'.  They  like  to  hang 
on  to  their  hearts  an'  make  ye  bid  for  'em. 
They  want  to  know  how  much  you'll  give; 
and  they're  right,  absolutely  right.  It's  good 
business.  A  girl  has  to  be  won." 

I  sat  in  a  thoughtful  silence,  and  Smead 
went  on. 

"It's  a  kind  of  auction  sale.  'How  much 
am  I  bid?'  the  girl  says  with  her  eyes. 
You  say,  'I  offer  my  love.'  It  isn't  enough. 
You  offer  houses  an'  lands.  Still  she  shakes 
her  head  no.  By  an'  by  you  speak  up 
with  a  brave  voice,  an'  offer  the  strong 
heart  of  a  hero  an'  a  love  as  deep  an'  bound 
less  as  the  sea,  an'  you  mean  every  word  of 
it.  That  fetches  her.  You  see,  love  is 
96 


THE    TURNING   OFGRIGGSBY 

the  biggest  thing  in  a  woman's  life— or  in 
the  world,  for  that  matter.  So  you've  got 
to  say  it  big  an'  mean  it  big.  Feeble  words 
an'  manners  won't  do  when  you're  tellin' 
the  best  girl  in  the  world  how  ye  love  her. 
Now,  you've  got  the  goods — the  hero's  heart 
an'  all.  Why  don't  ye  offer  "em?" 

I  wish  I  had  told  him  why,  but  I  did  not. 
In  the  first  place,  I  knew  that  I  was  no  hero; 
and,  again,  I  was  like  most  Yankee  boys  of 
that  time — I  could  not  bear  any  tempting 
of  my  heart's  history.  It  was  full  of  deep 
sentiment,  but  somehow  that  was  awfully 
sacred  to  me.  Then,  too,  I  was  not  much 
of  a  talker.  I  could  not  have  said  those 
pretty  things  to  Florence.  My  words  had 
never  been  cheapened  by  overuse,  and  I  had 
quit  lying,  and  any  sort  of  hyperbole  would 
have  made  me  ashamed  of  myself. 

I  decided  to  leave  school  soon,  and  go  to 
New  York  to  seek  my  fortune.  So  I  should 
have  done  but  for  my  next  adventure. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THERE  were  days  when  there  was  a 
mighty  ferment  in  the  systems  of 
Griggsby. 

On  a  gray,  chilly  Saturday  in  the  early 
autumn  the  village  was  full  of  farmer 
folk  who  had  come  to  market  their  prod 
uce.  With  these  people  and  the  mill 
hands,  Saturday  was  apt  to  be  a  busy  day, 
with  all  doors  open  until  eight  or  nine 
o'clock.  Most  of  the  farmers  went  home 
in  good  order  after  their  selling  and  buying. 
Some,  however,  proceeded  to  squander  the 
proceeds  and  went  home  reeling  in  their 
wagons,  with  horses  running  and  lathering 
under  the  whip. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  Henry  Dunbar  and 
I  were  walking  down  the  main  street  when 
98 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

we  saw  a  crowd  gathering  and  heard  an 
outburst  of  drunken  profanity.  We  ran 
with  the  crowd,  which  was  surrounding  the 
town  bully,  a  giant  blacksmith,  of  the  name 
of  Josh,  noted  for  his  great  strength  and 
thunderous  voice,  and  a  farmer  from  an 
Irish  neighborhood  above  the  village.  Both 
had  been  drinking,  and  the  blacksmith  was 
berating  the  farmer.  We  mounted  a  wagon 
that  stood  near,  where  we  could  see  and  hear. 
The  blacksmith  had  rolled  up  his  right 
shirt  sleeve  to  the  shoulder,  and  stood  with 
his  huge  arm  raised  as  the  foul  thunder  of 
his  wrath  broke  the  peace  of  the  village. 

The  farmer  rushed  in,  striking  with  both 
fists.  Josh  seized  him  about  the  shoulders, 
and  the  two  wrestled  for  a  moment,  then 
fell,  the  farmer  underneath.  Josh  held  him 
by  his  hair  and  ears,  and  was  banging  his 
head  on  the  stone  pavement.  It  was  now 
like  a  fight  between  bulldogs;  blood  was 
flowing.  The  farmer  had  the  blacksmith's 
thumb  between  his  teeth,  and  the  latter  was 
99 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

roaring  with  pain.  There  were  loud  cries  of 
"Stop  it!"  Two  bystanders  were  tugging 
at  the  great  shoulders  of  Josh. 

Henry  and  I  leaped  from  the  wagon, 
pushed  our  way  through  the  crowd,  and, 
seizing  the  blacksmith  by  his  collar,  broke 
their  holds  with  a  quick  pull  and  brought 
Josh's  neck  to  the  ground.  The  farmer  was 
surrounded  and  pushed  away,  while  the 
mighty  Josh  made  for  me.  I  was  minded 
to  run  away,  but  how  could  I,  after  all  that 
Smead  had  said  to  me?  I  expected  to  be 
killed,  but  I  could  not  run  away.  So  I 
did  a  thing  no  man  had  ever  done  before 
when  the  great  Josh  was  coming.  I  ran 
straight  at  the  giant  and,  as  I  met  him, 
delivered  a  blow,  behind  which  was  the 
weight  and  impulse  of  my  body,  full  in  the 
face  of  that  redoubtable  man.  It  was 
like  the  stroke  of  a  hundred  -  and  -  sixty- 
pound  sledge  hammer.  The  man  toppled 
backward  and  fell  into  a  cellarway,  head 
foremost,  burst  the  door  at  the  foot  of  the 
100 


THE    TURNING   OFGRIGGSBY 

stairs,  and  stopped  senseless  on  the  threshold 
of  a  butcher's  shop.  It  was  a  notable  fall, 
that  of  this  town  bully,  and  his  pristine 
eminence  was  never  wholly  recovered. 
Henry,  too,  was  set  upon  by  rowdy  parti 
sans,  and  was  defending  himself  when  the 
town  constable  reached  the  battlefield  and 
arrested  Josh  and  the  farmer  and  me  for  a 
breach  of  the  peace.  But  the  incident  was 
not  closed. 

Friends  of  the  fighters  began  to  discuss 
the  merits  of  the  men  and  their  quarrel 
in  the  bar-rooms  and  stable  yards  of 
Griggsby.  Feeling  ran  high,  and  there  was 
noisy  brawling  in  the  streets. 

Soon  after  nightfall  a  fight  began  in  a 
bar-room  between  the  two  factions  repre 
sented  by  farmer  boys  and  horse-rubbers, 
and  was  carried  into  the  back  yard;  and 
while  it  lasted  one  young  man  was  kicked 
in  the  chest  until  he  was  nearly  dead. 
Word  ran  through  the  town  that  a  murder 
had  been  committed.  The  Websterian  age 


IOI 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

of  Griggsby  had  come  to  its  climax,  and 
naturally. 

Next  day  Henry  was  arrested  for  his  part 
in  the  affray.  His  father,  who  happened 
to  be  in  Boston  at  the  time,  was  summoned 
by  a  telegram  from  Florence.  He  came,  and 
the  result  of  his  coming  was  the  purchase  of 
The  Little  Corporal  for  his  daughter.  I  sat 
with  him  and  his  son  and  daughter  when  Dan'l 
Webster  Smead  told  him  the  story  of  that 
day  with  the  insight  of  a  true  philosopher. 

"The  old  town  is  in  a  bad  way,"  said 
Dunbar,  when  the  story  was  finished. 

"But  it  can  be  set  right,"  said  Smead, 
"an'  you're  the  man  to  do  it." 

"How?" 

"Buy  The  Little  Corporal  for  your  daugh 
ter,  an'  we'll  do  the  rest,"  said  Smead. 

Mr.  Dunbar  shook  his  head.  "I'd  rather 
she'd  marry  some  fine  young  fellow  and 
settle  down,"  said  he. 

"What's  the  matter  with  her  doin'  both?" 
Smead  asked. 

102 


THE   TURNING   OFGRIGGSBY 

"Give  me  the  Corporal,  and  I'll  attend  to 
the  young  fellow,"  said  Florence. 

"Well,  if  you'll  agree  to  help  her  in  both 
enterprises,"  said  Dunbar  to  Smead," I'll  buy 
the  paper.  But  you  and  Havelock  must  agree 
to  help  with  the  newspaper,  and  make  no 
important  contracts  without  my  consent." 

So  I  agreed  to  work  for  the  Corporal,  and 
changed  my  plan  of  leaving  Griggsby. 

Immediately  I  began  to  suffer  an  ill- 
earned  and  unwelcome  adulation.  The 
Dan'l  Websters  touched  their  hats  when  I 
passed,  and  one  likened  me  to  Achilles; 
small  boys  followed  me  in  the  streets  and 
gazed  into  my  face.  Fortunately,  my 
alleged  crimes  were  soon  forgotten.  That 
is  one  curious  thing  about  the  Yankees: 
they  will  use  a  lie  for  conversational  pur 
poses,  but  they  never  believe  it.  They 
rarely  love  a  man  until  they  have  taken  him 
apart  and  put  him  together  again  by  the 
surgery  of  conversation.  They  want  to 
know  how  he  stands  it. 
103 


CHAPTER  VIII 

GOOD  food,  and  plenty  of  it,  was  re 
quired  to  maintain  the  talents  for 
leisure,  racing,  and  Websterian  grandeur 
that  distinguished  the  men  of  Griggsby. 
As  a  rule,  the  women,  therefore,  were 
overworked.  Men  who  could  not  afford  the 
grandeur  or  the  sport  indulged  in  dreams 
of  it,  and  surrendered  their  lives  to  inelegant 
leisure.  Some  left  their  farms  and  moved 
into  the  village  to  make  Dan'l  Websters  of 
their  sons.  Some  talked  of  going  West, 
where  the  opportunities  were  better.  You 
could  hear  men  in  blue  denim  dreaming  of 
wealth  on  the  pavements  and  cracker 
barrels  of  Griggsby,  while  their  wives 
battled  with  poverty  at  home. 

Wifehood  was  still  a  form  of  bondage, 
104 


THE   TURNING   OFGRIGGSBY 

as  it  was  bound  to  be  among  a  people  who 
for  generations  had  spent  every  Sabbath  and 
the  beginning  and  the  end  of  every  other 
day  with  Abraham  and  his  descendants. 
Their  ideals  and  their  duties  were  from 
three  to  four  thousand  years  apart — so  far 
apart  that  they  seldom  got  acquainted  with 
one  another.  Among  the  highest  of  their 
ideals  was  Ruth,  of  the  country  of  Moab. 
Did  she  not  touch  her  face  to  the  ground  to 
find  favor  with  the  man  she  loved?  Did 
she  not  glean  in  the  fields  till  even,  and 
thresh  out  her  bundles,  and  then  lie  down 
at  the  feet  of  Boaz? 

In  love  and  fear  the  wives  of  the  Yankees 
were  always  gleaning.  They  found  a  cer 
tain  joy  in  trouble.  Sorrow  was  a  form 
of  dissipation  to  many,  disappointment  a 
welcome  means  of  grace,  and  weariness  a 
comforting  sign  of  duty  done.  Their  fears 
were  an  ever-present  trouble  in  time  of  need. 
They  were  three — idleness,  God,  and  the 
poorhouse.  Whatever  the  men  might  do 
8  105 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

or  fail  to  do  in  Griggsby,  it  was  the  part 
of  the  women  to  work  and  save.  They 
squandered  to  save;  squandered  their  abun 
dant  strength  to  save  the  earnings  of  the 
family,  the  souls  of  husbands,  sons,  and 
daughters,  the  lives  of  the  sick.  If  ever 
they  thought  of  themselves  it  was  in  secret. 
Their  hands  were  never  idle. 

The  Yankee  was  often  an  orator  to  his 
own  wife  at  least,  and  had  convinced  his 
little  audience  of  one  of  two  things,  either 
that  he  had  achieved  greatness  or  was  soon 
to  be  crowned.  The  lures  of  politics,  in 
vention,  horsemanship,  speculation,  relig 
ion,  and  even  poesy,  led  their  victims  from 
the  ax  and  the  plow.  In  certain  homes 
you  found  soft-handed,  horny-hearted  ty 
rants  of  vast  hope  and  good  nature,  and  one 
or  more  slaves  in  calico.  In  my  humble 
opinion,  these  willing  slaves  suffered  from 
injustice  more  profound  than  did  their  dark- 
skinned  sisters  of  the  South. 

You  might  see  a  judge  or  a  statesman 
106 


THE   TURNING   OFGRIGGSBY 

strutting  in  purple  and  fine  linen,  or  ex 
changing  compliments  in  noble  rhetoric  at  a 
mahogany  bar,  while  his  aproned  wife,  with 
bare  arms,  was  hard  at  work  in  the  kitchen, 
trying  to  save  the  expense  of  a  second  hired 
girl.  And  you  would  find  her  immensely 
proud  of  her  rhetorical  peacock.  His  drink 
ing  and  his  maudlin  conduct  were  often  ex 
cused  as  the  sad  but  inevitable  accessories 
of  Websterian  genius. 

But  the  Websterian  impulse  had  begun 
to  show  itself  in  a  new  generation  of 
women.  It  flowered  in  resounding  rhet 
oric. 

Now  and  then  Florence  Dunbar  called 
at  the  home  of  the  Smeads,  and  had  learned 
to  enjoy  the  jests  of  Dan'l,  and  especially 
his  talk  about  social  conditions  in  Griggsby. 
It  was  there  that  she  got  the  notion  of  buy 
ing  the  Corporal  and  hiring  Smead  to  help 
her  reform  the  place. 

One  evening  a  number  of  my  schoolmates 
were  asked  to  meet  the  daughters  of  Smead, 
107 


TH.E    TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

who  had  attended  the  normal  school  before 
going  out  to  teach. 

"Ruth,  won't  you  get  up  and  give  us  a 
piece  ?"Mrs.  Smead  asked  one  of  her  daughters. 

"Mince,  apple,  or  pumpkin,  mother?" 
Dan'l  W.  inquired,  playfully. 

"Oh,  stop  your  joking!"  said  Mrs.  Smead. 

The  young  lady  stepped  to  the  middle  of 
the  floor,  after  the  fashion  of  Charlotte 
Cushman  in  the  sleep-walking  scene  of 
"Lady  Macbeth."  She  gave  us  Warren's 
"Address,"  trilling  her  (r's)  and  pronouncing 
"my"  like  "me." 

"There's  the  makin'  of  another  D.  W.," 
said  Smead,  soberly. 

Ruth  did  not  get  the  point,  and  he  went 
on.  "She  makes  the  boys  and  girls  roar 
like  cottage  organs  up  there  at  the  red  school- 
house.  They  know  how  to  work  every 
stop  in  the  organ,  too — patriotic  defiance, 
king  hatred,  sorrow,  despair,  torpid  liver, 
pious  rant.  They  need  two  more  stops  on 
the  organ,  humor  and  sanity." 
1 08 


THE    TURNING   OFGRIGGSBY 

Betsey,  the  younger  sister  of  Ruth,  would 
not  speak  "a  piece,"  and  I  was  glad  of  it. 
She  sat  by  me  and  modestly  told  of  her  work, 
and  now  and  then  gave  me  a  look  out  of  her 
lovely  blue  eyes  that  would  have  moved 
the  heart  of  a  stone.  What  a  mouth  and 
face  she  had,  what  a  fair,  full,  soft  crown  of 
hair !  What  a  slim,  inviting  waist !  And  I 
liked  her;  that  is  the  most  I  can  say  of  it. 
Soc  Potter,  another  schoolmate  of  those 
days,  was  said  to  be  in  love  with  her  and  to 
have  the  inside  track. 

Two  other  young  ladies  possessed  by  the 
demon  of  elocution  shook  out  a  few  faded 
rags  of  literature  with  noble  gestures  and 
high-flavored  tones.  Yet  these  ladies  of 
Griggsby  were  content  with  the  intoxication 
of  whirling  words,  while  their  husbands, 
sons,  and  brothers  indulged  in  feelings  of 
grandeur  not  so  easily  supported.  But  I 
do  not  wish  you  to  forget  that  the  women 
were  always  busy.  If  it  had  not  been  for 
them  Griggsby  would  long  ago  have  perished 
109 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

of  dignity  and  indolence,  or  of  that  trouble 
which  the  Germans  call  katzen jammer. 

To  sum  up,  the  women  stood  for  indus 
try,  the  men  sat  down  for  it ;  the  women 
worked  for  decency,  and  every  man  recom 
mended  it  to  his  neighbor.  But  the  women 
had  no  voice  in  the  government  of  the 
town. 

A  year  had  passed  since  Ralph's  departure. 
For  months  no  word  from  him  had  come 
to  me,  or  to  Florence,  as  she  informed 
me. 

"I'm  very  sorry,"  I  said,  as  we  were 
walking  together. 

"I'm  afraid  I'm  not,"  she  surprised  me 
by  saying. 

I  turned  and  looked  into  her  eyes. 

"For  a  long  time  I've  been  trying  to  make 
a  hero  of  Ralph,  but  it's  hard  work,"  she 
went  on;  "I  fear  it's  impossible." 

"Why?" 

"He  doesn't  help  me  a  bit;  he  doesn't 
give  me  any  material  to  work  with." 
no 


THE   TURNING   OFGRIGGSBY 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence,  in  which 
the  girl  seemed  to  be  trying  to  hold  her 
poise.  Then  she  added. 

"Either  he  doesn't  care  or  he  is  very 
easily  fooled." 

I  said  nothing,  but  I  heartily  agreed  with 
her. 

Congress  had  adjourned,  and  the  Colonel 
had  returned  to  his  native  haunts  with  all 
his  Websterian  accessories.  There  were 
moral  weather  prophets  in  Griggsby  who 
used  to  say,  when  the  Colonel  came  back, 
that  they  could  tell  whether  it  was  going 
to  be  a  wet  or  a  dry  summer  by  the  color 
of  his  nose  and  the  set  of  his  high  hat. 
"Wet"  was  now  the  general  verdict  as  he 
strode  down  the  main  street  swinging  his 
gold-headed  cane. 

On  a  lovely  May  day  I  tramped  off  into 
the  country  to  attend  Betsey  Smead's  last 
day  of  school  and  to  walk  home  with  her. 
The  latter  was  the  main  part  of  it.  She  was 
glad  to  see  me,  and  I  enjoyed  the  children, 
in 


THE   TURNING   OFGRIGGSBY 

and  the  songs  of  the  birds  in  the  maples  of 
the  old  schoolyard. 

In  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  a  stern- 
faced  old  man  with  a  hickory  cane  in  his 
hand  entered  the  schoolhouse,  and  Betsey 
hurried  to  meet  and  kiss  him.  Then  she 
helped  him  to  a  seat  at  the  teacher's  desk. 
He  was  stoutly  built,  and  wore  a  high 
collar,  a  black  stock,  and  a  suit  of  faded 
brown.  There  was  a  fringe  of  iron-gray 
hair  above  his  ears,  with  tufts  of  the  same 
color  in  front  of  them.  The  rest  of  his 
rugged,  deep-lined  face  was  as  bare  as  the 
top  of  his  head.  His  stern,  gray  eyes 
quizzically  regarded  the  girl  and  the  pupils. 

"Describe  the  course  of  the  Connecticut 
River,"  he  demanded  of  a  member  of  the 
geography  class. 

To  my  joy,  the  frightened  girl  answered 
correctly. 

"Very  well,  very  well,"  said  he,  loudly, 
as  though  it  were  a  matter  of  small  credit, 
after  all. 

112 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

A  member  of  the  first  class  in  arithmetic 
was  not  so  fortunate.  To  him  he  put  a 
problem. 

"Go  to  the  blackboard,"  the  old  gentle 
man  commanded.  "A  man  had  three  sons 
— put  down  three,  if  you  please. 

"To  A  he  willed  half  his  property,  to  B 
a  quarter,  and  to  C  a  sixth.  Now,  his 
property  consisted  of  eleven  sheep.  The 
sons  wished  to  divide  the  sheep  without 
killing  any,  so  they  consulted  a  neighbor. 
The  neighbor  came  with  one  of  his  own 
sheep  and  put  it  in  with  the  eleven,  making 
twelve  in  all.  Then  he  gave  one-half  to  A, 
making  six;  one-quarter  to  B,  making 
three;  one-sixth  to  C,  making  two — a  total 
of  eleven — and  drove  back  his  own  sheep. 
Now,  tell  me,  young  man,  what  is  the  matter 
with  that  problem — tell  me  at  once,  sir." 

The  boy  trembled,  looked  stupidly  at  the 
blackboard,  and  gave  up. 

"Huh!  that  will  do,"  snapped  the  old 
gentleman. 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

Here  was  the  grand,  stentorian  method 
applied  to  geography  and  mathematics. 

At  last  school  was  dismissed.  The  tears 
of  the  children  as  they  parted  with  Betsey 
seemed  to  please  the  old  gentleman.  His 
face  softened  a  little. 

"Ah,  you'll  make  a  good  mother,  Bet 
sey,"  he  said,  rather  snappishly,  as  he  came 
down  from  his  seat,  drawing  his  breath  at 
the  proper  places  of  punctuation  and  touch 
ing  his  right  leg  as  though  he  had  a  pain 
in  it.  "Do  ye  know  how  to  work,  eh?" 

"I've  always  had  to  work,"  said  Betsey. 

"That's  good,  that's  good!"  the  old  man 
exclaimed.  ' '  Your  grandmother  was  a  good 
woman  to  work." 

"Grandfather,  this  is  Mr.  Havelock," 
said  Betsey,  as  she  presented  me. 

"How  d'  do?"  snapped  the  old  gentle 
man,  looking  sharply  into  my  face.  Then 
he  turned  to  Betsey  and  said:  "Don't  be 
in  a  hurry  to  get  married.  There  are 
plenty  of  fish  in  the  sea,  girl — plenty  of 
114 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

fish.  Huh!  Tell  your  father  that  I  am 
very  much  pleased  with  the  last  news  of 
him — very  much  pleased;  but  I  shall  not 
trust  him  again — never,  nor  any  of  them 
except  you." 

A  man  was  waiting  for  him  in  a  buggy 
outside  the  door.  I  withdrew  a  little,  and 
waited  while  Betsey  spoke  with  the  old 
gentleman.  The  girl  joined  me  as  her 
grandfather  drove  away,  and  together  we 
walked  down  the  hills  to  Griggsby,  that 
lovely  afternoon  of  the  early  summer. 
We  talked  of  many  things,  and  always  when 
I  have  thought  of  that  hour  I  have  heard 
the  hum  of  new  life  in  ponds  and  marshes 
and  seen  the  light  of  a  day's  end  glowing  on 
windows,  woods,  and  hills,  and  felt  the  joy 
of  youth  again. 

"You  are  a  friend  of  Florence  Dunbar," 
said  Betsey,  as  we  were  crossing  a  field. 
"She  has  told  me  lots  about  you." 

"I  fear  that  I'm  not  much  of  a  success 
either  as  a  subject  or  a  predicate,"  I  said. 


THE    TURNING    OFGRIGGSBY 

"She  thinks  you  are  a  great  hero,  and 
there  are  others  who  think  it,  too." 

I  blushed  and  stumbled  a  little  in  trying 
to  say: 

"Well— it— it  isn't  my  fault.  I've— I've 
done  my  best  to — to  keep  her  from  making 
any  mistake." 

"We've  been  hoping  that  you  and  she 
would  make  a  match,"  the  little  school 
teacher  went  on. 

"It's — it's  impossible,"   I   said,   bitterly. 

"Impossible?     Why?" 

"Well,  she — she  feels  so  horribly  grateful 
to  me  that — that  if  I  asked  her  to  be  my 
wife,  I — I  suppose  she  would  think  it  her 
duty  to  say  yes." 

Betsey  laughed,  and  we  walked  along  in 
silence  for  half  a  minute.  Then  she  stop 
ped,  and  her  glowing  eyes  looked  into  mine 
as  she  said,  very  soberly: 

"Havelock,  you're  a  strange  boy.    I  don't 
want    to   spoil   you,   but   I    think — well,   I 
won't  say  what  I  think." 
116 


THE   TURNING   OFGRIGGSBY 

So  I  never  knew  what  she  thought,  but 
I  well  remember  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes 
and  mine  as  we  walked  in  silence.  She  was 
the  first  to  speak. 

' '  If  Florence  said  yes,  it  would  be  because 
she  loves  you,"  said  Betsey. 

"But  you  do  not  know  all  that  I  know," 
was  my  answer. 

"I  want  to  be  decently  modest,  but  I 
know  some  things  that  you  do  not,"  she  de 
clared. 

Then,  as  if  she  dared  go  no  further  in  that 
direction,  she  timidly  veered  about. 

"I  believe  you  are  acquainted  with  Soc 
rates  Potter?" 

"Yes,  and  I  like  him.  He  can  say  such 
funny  things." 

"Sometimes  I  fear  that  he  hasn't  a  seri 
ous  thought  in  his  head." 

"Oh  yes!     He  has  at  least  one,"  I  said. 

"Well,  I  should  like  to  know  what  it  is." 

"His  thought  of  you." 

She  blushed  and  looked  away,  and  I 
117 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

could  see  that  she  was  in  quite  a  flutter  of 
excitement. 

Oh,  what  a  day  was  that,  and — we  were 
in  its  last  moments! 

We  were  nearing  the  village,  and  had  be 
gun  to  meet  people,  and,  while  we  had  a 
little  distance  to  go,  our  serious  talk  went 
no  further. 


CHAPTER  IX 

GRADUATION  day  had  arrived,  when 
Florence  was  to  complete  her  course 
at  the  academy.  The  best  women,  as 
though  by  general  agreement,  had  combined 
to  right  the  wrong  done  her.  No  girl  so 
noble  and  splendid  had  ever  stood  on  the 
platform  of  the  old  academy.  She  was  the 
valedictorian.  Her  gown  was  white,  her 
voice  music,  while  her  form  and  face  would 
have  delighted  a  sculptor.  That  very  day 
she  assumed  control  of  The  Little  Corporal, 
and  began  her  work,  with  Dan'l  Webster 
Smead  as  associate  editor. 

The  first  issue  of  the  paper  under  its  new 
management  had  an  editorial  to  this  effect: 

Things  are  going  to  happen  in  Griggsby — things 
that  have  never  happened  before  in  Griggsby  or 
119 


THE    TURNING    OF  GRIGGSBY 

elsewhere.  We  have  a  large,  distinguished,  and 
growing  list  of  drunkards  whose  careers  thus  far  have 
suffered  from  neglect,  concealment,  and  a  general 
lack  of  appreciation. 

Full  many  a  brawl  of  purest  ray  serene 
The  dark,  unfathomed  depths  of  Griggsby  bear; 
Full  many  a  spree  is  born  to  blush  unseen 
And  waste  its  fragrance  on  the  midnight  air. 

It  shall  be  so  no  longer.  We  propose  to  fathom 
the  depths.  Hereafter  the  adventures  of  our  merry 
gentlemen  shall  be  duly  chronicled,  so  that  the  public 
may  share  their  joy  and  give  them  credit  according 
to  their  deserts. 

We  have  a  number  of  idlers  and  gamblers  in 
Griggsby  whose  exploits  have  also  been  shrouded  in 
obscurity.  They,  too,  may  rejoice  that  at  last  full 
justice  is  to  be  accorded  them  in  this  paper,  so  that 
their  winning  and  losing  shall  no  longer  be  a  subject 
of  inaccurate  knowledge.  Some  are  blamed  who 
ought  not  to  be  blamed,  and  some  are  not  blamed  who 
ought  to  be  blamed,  and  there  is  no  health  in  the 
present  situation. 

We  have  a  large  number  of  young  men  who  are 
looking  to  their  elders  for  an  example  worthy  of 
emulation.  The  Little  Corporal  will  let  its  light 
shine  hereafter  upon  the  example  set  by  the  elder 
generation  of  Griggsby,  to  the  end  that  none  of  it 
may  be  lost. 

We  have  seven  saloons  and  three  drug  stores  that 

I2O 


THE    TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

have  violated  the  law  with  notable  and  unnoted 
persistence.  They,  too,  may  be  assured  that  their 
achievements  will  no  longer  be  overlooked. 

But  the  biggest  thing  we  have  in  Griggsby  is  a 
conscience.  That,  too,  may  rejoice  that  its  findings 
are  no  longer  to  be  unknown  and  neglected.  It  shall 
be  busy  night  and  day,  and  its  approval  shall  be  re 
corded  with  joy  and  its  condemnations  with  deep 
regret  in  the  Corporal.  But  both  shall  be  duly 
signalized  and  set  forth. 

It  is  recorded  of  Napoleon,  who  was  himself  known 
as  the  Little  Corporal,  that  one  night,  having  found 
a  sentinel  asleep  at  his  post,  he  took  the  weapon  of 
the  latter  and  stood  guard  for  him  until  he  awoke. 
That  this  paper  will  try  to  do  for  the  conscience  of 
Griggsby,  when  it  is  weary  and  overworked. 

Well,  things  did  begin  to  happen  in 
Griggsby.  The  Mutual  Adulation  Com 
pany  that  had  paid  its  daily  dividends  in 
compliments  and  good  wishes  at  the  bar 
of  the  Palace  Hotel  went  out  of  business. 
The  souls  of  the  leading  citizens  ceased  to 
flow.  The  babbling  brooks  of  flattery  ran 
dry. 

Among  other  items  this  appeared  in  the 
next  number  of  the  Corporal: 

9  121 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

Jerry  McMann  attacked  his  horse  in  the  street 
the  other  day,  and  without  any  provocation  that  the 
bystanders  could  observe  beat  him  over  the  head 
with  the  butt  of  his  whip,  for  which  he  has  had  to 
pay  the  utterly  inadequate  fine  of  five  dollars.  The 
Corporal  hereby  adds  to  his  fine  the  distinction  which 
his  act  has  won.  This  beater  of  a  helpless  animal 
is  probably  the  most  brutal  man  in  the  township, 
and  the  most  arrant  coward. 

The  Little  Corporal  passed  from  hand  to 
hand,  and  waves  of  joy  and  consternation 
swept  over  the  community.  Thoughtful 
and  worried  looks  gathered  under  the  hats 
of  silk  and  beaver.  Colonel  Buckstone 
smote  the  bar  of  the  Palace  Hotel  and 
roared  about  the  "Magna  Charta  of  our 
Liberties,"  as  he  viewed  his  image  in  a 
mirror  among  the  outlines  of  a  bird  drawn 
in  soap. 

Now,  there  lived  in  the  village  of  Griggsby 
a  certain  lawyer  of  the  name  of  Pike — G. 
Washington  Pike.  He  was  the  most  mag 
nificent  human  being  in  that  part  of  the 
country.  He  shone  every  day  in  broad- 
122 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

cloth,  a  tall  beaver  hat,  and  a  stock  and 
collar.  He  greeted  one  with  a  low  bow  and 
a  sweeping  gesture  of  the  right  hand,  and 
said  "Good  morning"  as  though  it  were  a 
solemn  and  eternal  verity.  His  distin 
guished  presence  graced  every  public  oc 
casion,  and  he  was  made  up  as  the  living 
image  of  Dan'l  Webster.  At  one  time  or 
another  many  who  lived  in  the  village  had 
been  nudged  by  visitors  from  a  distance 
and  asked:  "Who  is  that  grand-looking 
man?"  It  was  a  query  not  so  easy  to 
answer.  He  was  a  lawyer  without  visible 
clients,  whose  wife  was  the  leading  dress 
maker  of  Griggsby. 

I  was  sitting  in  the  office  of  the  Corporal 
with  Smead  when  the  great  man  entered, 
bowed  low,  and  cut  a  scroll  in  the  air  with 
his  right  hand. 

"Good  morning,  Editor  Smead,"  said  he, 
oratorically. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Pike,"  was  the 
greeting  of  Smead. 

123 


THE   TURNING   OFGRIGGSBY 

"On  this  occasion  it  is  Lawyer  Pike,  who 
presents  his  compliments  to  Editor  Smead, 
and  begs  to  confer  with  him  on  a  matter  of 
business,"  said  the  great  man. 

"Go  ahead,  Lawyer  Pike,"  said  the 
editor. 

"While  Mr.  Pike  has  the  highest  per 
sonal  regard  for  Mr.  Smead,  Lawyer  Pike 
takes  issue  with  Editor  Smead  in  behalf  of 
his  client,  Mr.  Jeremiah  McMann,  and 
demands  a  retraction  of  certain  words  in  the 
Corporal  of  last  week,  calculated  to  injure 
the  reputation  of  said  McMann." 

Then  the  great  Dan'l  said : 

"Editor  Smead  refuses  the  request  of 
Lawyer  Pike,  and  suggests  that  he  and 
horse-killer  McMann  should  join  hands  and 
jump  into  the  air  as  high  as  possible." 

And  so  ended  the  first  bluff  in  the  new  life 
of  Griggsby. 

A  great  public  meeting  was  held  in  the 
town  hall  in  support  of  the  candidacy  of 
Colonel  Buckstone  for  the  post  of  consul 
124 


EDITOR  SMKAD  REFUSES  THE  REQUEST  OF  I..\\\'YI'.K  1'IKK, 
AND  SUGGESTS  THAT  HE  AM)  1IOKSK  -  KI1.I.KK  Mi  MANN 
SHOULD  JOIN"  HANDS  AND  Jl  Ml'  INK)  THE  AIR  AS  1!!<.II 
AS  POSSIIil.E  " 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

at  Hongkong.  The  merchant  princes  and 
Daniel  Websters,  representing  the  beauty 
and  fashion  of  Griggsby,  the  women,  rep 
resenting  its  industry  and  sturdy  virtue, 
were  on  hand.  So  were  many  mill-workers 
and  students  from  the  old  academy. 

Judge  Warner  was  chosen  to  preside, 
and  opened  the  meeting  with  sober,  well- 
chosen  words.  Then  followed  a  great  and 
memorable  tournament  of  the  D.  W.'s. 
Floods  of  impassioned  eloquence  swept  over 
the  crowd  and  out  of  the  open  windows,  and 
at  every  impressive  pause  we  could  hear 
birds  chattering  as  they  slipped  from  their 
perches  in  the  treetops  that  overhung  the 
eaves. 

The  great  Bill  Smithers  was  telling  of  the 
poor,  barefooted  boy  who  came  down  from 
the  hills  long  ago  and  bade  fair  to  rise  to 
the  highest  pinnacle  of  statesmanship. 

Among  other  things  he  said:  "Think  of 
this  poor  boy,  who  used  to  feed  the  chickens 
and  milk  the  patient  cow.  Since  then  he 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

has  fed  the  multitude  of  his  fellow-citizens 
with  political  wisdom  and  milked  the  great 
Republic  for  their  benefit." 

He  soared  and  roared  in  praise  of  the  man 
ly  virtues  of  the  Colonel. 

A  stray  cow  began  to  bellow  in  the  streets. 
Mr.  Smithers,  who  was  speaking,  paused 
to  inquire  if  some  one  would  please  stop  that 
beast. 

A  voice  in  the  gallery  shouted,  "Give  the 
cow  a  chance."  Another  said,  "It's  the 
cow  that  Sile  milked."  The  crowd  began 
to  laugh,  and  the  situation  was  critical; 
but,  fortunately,  the  emotions  of  the  cow 
subsided. 

The  Rev.  Sam  Shackleford  turned  him 
self  into  a  human  earthquake,  and  tears 
rolled  down  his  face  while  he  told  of  the 
great  talents  and  the  noble  heart  of  his 
distinguished  fellow-townsman. 

In  due  time  Colonel  Buckstone  rose  to 
acknowledge  the  kindness  of  his  fellow- 
citizens.  He  spoke  of  the  affairs  of  his 
126 


THE   TURNING   OFGRIGGSBY 

native  town,  and  presently  referred  to  the 
newspaper,  which  had  always  been  a  power 
for  good  in  the  village.  He  hoped  that  it 
would  continue  to  be  so,  but  had  his  fears. 
A  certain  editorial  had  already  injured  the 
fair  fame  of  Griggsby.  There  was  not  a 
scintilla  of  evidence  in  support  of  its  veiled 
and  open  charges,  not  one.  He  challenged 
Mr.  D.  W.  Smead  to  prove  that  Griggsby 
was  any  worse  than  other  communities. 

In  the  name  of  Heaven,  what  new  assault 
was  to  be  made  upon  the  Magna  Charta 
of  our  liberties,  secured  by  the  blood  of  our 
fathers?  He  would  defend  it.  He  served 
notice  then  and  there  that  he  would  pour 
out  his  life's  blood,  if  need  be,  rather  than 
see  the  liberties  of  the  citizens  of  Griggsby 
abated  by  one  jot  or  tittle.  No,  he  would 
rather  see  his  right  arm  severed  from  his 
body. 

That  dear  old  Magna  Charta  was  often 
on  his  lips.  Indeed,  the  chart  of  his  liber 
ties  was  so  great  and  so  threatening  that 
127 


THE   TU.RNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

Moses  and  the  prophets  had  to  get  out  of 
its  way.  Every  day  he  referred  to  "jots 
and  tittles"  of  abatement  and  absent 
"scintillas  of  evidence." 

He  closed  his  address  with  this  Web- 
sterian  peroration: 

"When  my  eyes  shall  be  turned  to  be 
hold  for  the  last  time  the  sun  in  heaven, 
may  they  not  see  him  shining  on  the  en 
slaved  citizens  of  my  native  town.  Rather 
let  their  last  feeble  and  lingering  glance 
behold  them  eating  and  drinking  according 
to  their  needs  and  wishes,  and  in  the  full 
enjoyment  of  every  blessing  that  the  Al 
mighty  has  showered  upon  us." 

These  sentiments  met  with  noisy  approval. 
How  often  the  eyes  of  the  great  man  were 
"turned  to  behold  for  the  last  time  the  sun 
in  heaven  "! 

There  was  a  call  for  Dan'l  W.  Smead. 

Mr.  Smead  rose  from  his  seat  in  the 
audience,  went  to  the  platform,  and  said : 

"I  feel  like  Pompeii  after  the  great 
128 


THE    TURNING   OFGRIGGSBY 

eruption  of  seventy-nine  A.D.  I  am  over 
whelmed,  but  I  propose  to  dig  myself  up  and 
continue  in  business.  First,  let  me  say  that 
I  am  glad  that  Colonel  Buckstone  is  likely 
to  enter  the  missionary  field  an'  show  the 
Christian  virtues  of  New  England  to  the 
heathen  of  the  Orient.  I  have  long  thought 
that  it  was  a  good  thing  for  him  to  do — a 
good  thing  for  anybody  to  do.  In  my 
opinion,  the  Colonel  would  soon  take  the 
conceit  out  of  those  foreign  heathen.  But 
we  need  him  here.  We  do  not  wish  him  to 
be  plucked  from  the  garden  of  Griggsby. 
What,  I  ask  you,  what  is  to  become  of  our 
own  heathen  if  he  is  removed  from  among 
them?  Have  not  the  press  an'  the  pulpit 
already  threatened  their  sacred  liberties? 
Who  would  remind  us  of  those  jots  and 
tittles  of  abatement,  of  those  absent  scin 
tillas  of  evidence?  It  is  too  bad  that  the 
palladium  of  our  oratory  is  threatened. 
It  must  not  be.  Think  of  the  feelings  of  the 
sun  in  heaven  if  he  were  not  again  to  be 
129 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

beheld  for  the  last  time  in  the  village  of 
Griggsby!  Of  course,  there  are  other  vil 
lages,  but  let  it  never  be  said  that  we  have 
fallen  behind  them. 

"When  my  eyes  shall  be  turned  to  behold 
for  the  last  time  the  sun  in  heaven,  may  I 
not  see  him  shining  on  a  bereft  an'  joyful 
Griggsby;  on  citizens  who  have  ceased  to 
weep  except  for  sorrow,  whose  tears  have 
gone  dry  because  the  village  pumps  of 
oratory  have  failed  them.  God  forbid  that 
I  should  behold  him  shining  upon  men  of 
genius  in  bondage  or  in  exile!  Rather  let 
their  last  feeble  and  lingering  glance  see  those 
citizens  eating  and  drinking,  according  to 
their  needs  and  wishes,  at  the  Palace  Hotel, 
while  their  wives  are  at  work,  according  to 
their  habit,  in  the  kitchen  and  the  laundry." 

For  a  moment  he  was  silenced  by  a  storm 
of  laughter. 

It  was  a  death  blow  to  the  Dan'l  Websters 
of  Griggsby.  Those  hardened  criminals 
of  the  rostrum,  who  had  long  been  robbing 
130 


THE    TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

the  people  of  their  tears,  had  themselves 
been  touched.  Their  consciences  were 
awakened.  They  tumbled  and  fell. 

Bill  Smithers,  who  had  so  highly  praised 
his  friend  the  Colonel  on  the  stage,  said 
to  a  fellow-citizen  after  he  had  left  the  hall, 
"Well,  after  all  is  said  and  done,  what  a 
d d  pirate  Buckstone  is!" 

That  shows  how  sincere,  how  heartfelt 
was  the  loud-sounding  oratory  of  that  time. 

Next  day  a  stern  and  sorrowful  silence 
fell  upon  Colonel  Buckstone.  It  boomed 
like  an  empty  barrel  at  the  slightest  touch. 
Judge  Brooks  ventured  to  ask  him  what  was 
the  matter.  He  smote  the  air  with  his 
fist,  muttered  an  oath,  checked  himself, 
shook  his  head,  and  said,  in  a  tone  worthy 
of  Edwin  Forrest: 

"The  evil  days  have  come,  sir.  I  trem 
ble  for  Griggsby." 

Then  he  sadly  strode  away. 

Now,  that  morning,  Colonel  Buckstone 
had  received  a  letter  from  the  able  editor 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

of  the  Corporal,  in  circumstances  fraught 
with  some  peril  to  myself.  The  letter  ran 
about  as  follows: 

MY  DEAR  COLONEL, — I  have  undertaken  to  im 
prove  the  morals  of  Griggsby,  and  as  a  first  step 
I  shall  insist  upon  your  retirement  from  public  life. 
I  inclose  the  proof  of  an  article,  now  in  type  in  this 
office,  in  which,  as  you  will  observe,  is  a  full  and 
accurate  review  of  your  career.  In  my  opinion,  this 
justifies  my  demand  that  forthwith  you  resign  your 
seat  in  Congress.  If  you  fail  to  do  so  within  one 
week  from  date,  I  shall  submit  this  article  to  the 
judgment  of  the  electors  of  the  district;  but  I  should 
like,  if  possible,  to  spare  your  family  the  pain  of  that 
process.  I  can  only  leave  you  to  choose  between 
voluntary  and  enforced  retirement,  with  some  un 
necessary  disgrace  attending  the  latter.  I  am  send 
ing  this  by  Mr.  Havelock,  who  is  instructed  to  de 
liver  it  to  you,  and  only  to  you. 
Yours  truly, 

FLORENCE  DUNBAR. 

I  had  gone  to  work  in  the  office  of  The 
Little  Corporal,  and  had  delivered  the 
message,  of  the  nature  of  which  I  knew 
nothing.  The  Colonel  tore  the  envelope, 
grew  hot  with  rage,  struck  at  me  with  his 
132 


THE    TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

cane,  and  shattered  the  Ninth  Command 
ment  with  a  cannon  shot  of  profanity. 

I  wondered  what  it  was  all  about,  and 
promptly  decided  that  the  profession  of 
journalism  was  too  full  of  peril  for  me. 

"Ha,  blackmailer!"  he  shouted.  "Child 
of  iniquity,  I  will  not  slay  you  until  you  have 
taken  my  reply  to  your  mistress,  who  is  a 
disgrace  to  the  name  of  woman.  Say  to 
her  that  if  she  publishes  the  article,  a  proof 
of  which  I  have  just  read,  I  shall  kill  her, 
so  help  me  God!" 

Yes,  it  was  a  kind  of  blackmail,  but  how 
noble  and  how  absolutely  feminine. 

When  I  returned  to  the  Colonel's  office 
I  knew  what  I  was  doing.  It  was  with  a 
note  which  read  as  follows : 

DEAR  SIR, — This  is  to  advise  you,  first,  that  you 
cannot  change  my  purpose  with  cheap  and  vulgar 
threats;  second,  that  resignation  would  be  an  easier 
means  of  retirement,  and  probably  less  painful,  than 
a  shooting-match  with  me. 

Yours  truly, 

FLORENCE  DUNBAR. 

133 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

The  old  bluff  mill  of  his  brain,  which  had 
won  many  lawsuits  and  jack  pots  for  the 
Colonel,  had  failed  him  for  once.  Its  goods, 
the  quality  of  which  had  never  been  dis 
puted,  were  now  declared  cheap  and  vulgar. 

He  was  comparatively  calm  until  he  had 
finished  reading  the  note,  when  the  storm 
broke  out  again,  and  I  fled  before  it. 

Well,  next  day  a  note  of  surprising 
politeness  came  from  the  Colonel.  It  apolo 
gized  for  the  haste  and  heat  of  his  former 
message,  and  requested  an  interview.  Miss 
Dunbar  was  quick  to  grant  his  request, 
demanding  that  the  interview  occur  in  her 
office,  and  in  the  presence  of  a  witness  of 
her  choosing,  who  could  be  trusted  to 
divulge  no  part  of  the  conversation.  The 
interview  took  place,  and  I  was  the  chosen 
witness. 

The  Colonel  was  calm  under  a  look  of 
injured  innocence. 

"Young  woman,"  he  began,  "let  us  be 
brief.  You  have  it  in  your  power  to  ruin 


THE   TURNING   OFGRIGGSBY 

me.  That  I  admit,  and  only  that,  and  ask 
what  you  want  me  to  do." 

"Resign,"  said  she,  firmly. 

"Mademoiselle,  I  have  been  foolish," 
said  the  Colonel,  "but  my  follies  are  those 
which,  unfortunately,  are  shared  by  many 
of  my  sex.  I  ask  you  to  consider  my 
family  and  my  long  devotion  to  the  in 
terests  of  this  community.  If  I  resign 
with  no  apparent  reason,  what  will  my  con 
stituents  say,  who  are  now  being  asked  to 
sign  a  petition  in  favor  of  my  appoint 
ment  to  a  consular  position?  My  fondest 
hopes  will  be  crushed." 

Colonel  Buckstone  wiped  his  watery  eyes 
with  his  handkerchief. 

Miss  Dunbar  spoke  out  with  courage  and 
judgment. 

"I  don't  want  to  be  hard  on  you,"  she 
said.  "There  are  two  conditions  which 
would  induce  me  to  modify  my  demand. 
The  first  is  that  you  turn  in  and  help  us 
to  improve  the  morals  of  this  community." 


THE    TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

"I  have  always  labored  in  that  cause," 
said  the  Colonel,  with  a  righteous  look. 

"But  you  have  succeeded  in  concealing 
your  efforts,"  she  said.  "You  are  one  of 
the  leading  citizens  of  Griggsby.  All  eyes 
are  upon  you.  Your  example  has  a  tre 
mendous  influence  on  the  young  men  of  this 
village.  Often  you  have  a  highly  moral 
pair  of  lungs  in  your  breast,  but  your  heart 
does  not  seem  to  agree  with  them.  A  man 
is  known  by  his  conduct,  and  no£  by  his 
words.  By  your  conduct  you  teach  the 
young  men  to  buy  and  sell  votes,  to  go  on 
sprees,  to  drink  and  gamble  in  public 
places,  to  have  little  regard  for  the  virtue 
and  good  name  of  woman." 

Then  a  thing  happened  which  gave  me 
new  hope  of  the  Colonel.  It  was  the  first 
time  that  his  jacket  had  been  warmed,  and 
it  looked  as  though  the  fire  of  remorse  had 
begun  to  burn  a  little. 

"Young  woman,"  he  said,  very  solemnly, 
"if  my  humble  example  has  been  so  mis- 
136 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

understood,  if  my  conduct  has  so  belied  the 
sentiments  of  my  heart  as  to  create  such  an 
impression  in  the  mind  of  the  observer,  I 
will  do  anything  in  my  power  to  make 
amends,  and  I  will  listen  to  any  suggestions 
you  are  good  enough  to  offer." 

The  suggestions  were  offered  and  accept 
ed,  and  the  sway  of  Buckstone  was  at  its  end. 

"There  is  one  other  thing,"  said  Miss 
Dunbar.  "You  have  cruelly  misjudged  my 
character,  and  there  is  one  thing  I  shall  ask 
you  to  do." 

"What  is  it?" 

"That  you  join  Ralph  in  Europe,  and  see 
that  he  returns  all  my  letters  within  six 
weeks  from  date." 

' '  It  was  my  plan  to  join  him  for  a  needed 
rest,"  said  the  Colonel,  "and  you  may  be 
glad  to  Icnow  that  I  propose  to  bring  him 
back  with  me." 

"What  you  propose  to  do  with  him  is  a 
matter  of  no  interest  to  me,"  said  Florence. 
"I  only  demand  the  letters." 
10  137 


CHAPTER  X 

1WAS  discussing  plans  with  Florence  in 
her  sanctum  one  afternoon,  when  she  said 
to  me: 

"Uriel,  you're  a  hummer.  We  can't 
get  along  without  you.  The  advertising 
has  doubled,  and  it's  due  mostly  to  your 
efforts.  Please  consider  yourself  married 
to  this  paper,  and  with  no  chance  of  divorce. 
I'll  treble  your  salary." 

"I  couldn't  help  doing  well  with  such  a 
paper  to  work  for,"  I  said.  "There's  no 
credit  due  me." 

' '  I  don't  agree  with  you.  Of  course,  we've 
made  a  good  paper.  I  thought  it  was  about 
time  that  the  women,  who  did  most  of  the 
work,  had  a  voice  in  the  government  of 
the  village.  Women  have  some  rights,  and 
138 


THE   TURNING   OFGRIGGSBY 

I  think  I've  a  right  to  know  whether  you 
still  care  for  me  or  not." 

"Florence,  I  love  you  more  than  ever," 
I  said.  I  rose  and  stepped  toward  her,  my 
face  burning;  and  she  quickly  opened  the 
gate  of  the  railing,  went  behind  it,  and  held 
me  back  with  her  hand. 

"Havelock,  you  stupid  thing!"  said  she. 
"What  I  want  now  is  eloquence  —  real, 
Websterian  eloquence,  and  plenty  of  it." 

I  stood  like  a  fool,  blushing  to  the  roots 
of  my  hair,  and  she  took  pity  on  me. 

"Bear  in  mind,"  said  she,  "that  I  am 
not  the  least  bit  grateful.  I  just  naturally 
love  you,  sir;  that's  the  truth  about  it." 

Then  my  tongue  was  loosed.  I  do  not 
remember  what  I  said,  but  it  was  satis 
factory  to  her,  and  right  in  the  midst  of  it 
she  unlocked  the  gate. 

We  were  both  crying  in  each  other's 
arms  when  there  came  a  rap  at  the  door. 

"One  moment,"  she  called,  as  we  en 
deavored  to  dry  our  eyes,  while  she  noisily 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

bustled  about  the  room.     Then  she  opened 
the  door,  and  there  stood  Dan'l  W.  Smead. 

"Come  in,"  said  she;  "and  don't  mind  my 
appearance.  I  have  just  listened  to  an 
address  full  of  the  most  impassioned  elo 
quence.  It  touched  my  heart." 

Dan'l  W.  looked  at  us,  smiled,  and  said 
with  unerring  insight,  "I  presume  it  was  an 
address  to  the  electors  of  his  home  district." 

"It  was,"  said  she. 

"Did  his  eyes  behold  for  the  last  time 
the  sun  in  heaven?" 

"No,  sir;  they  beheld  it  for  the  first  time." 

"And  it  shines  brighter  than  ever  before 
on  land  or  sea,"  I  added. 

' '  He'll  do, ' '  said  Smead.  ' '  He  has  much 
to  learn  about  the  oratory  and  politics  of 
love;  but  I  move  that  he  be  elected  by 
osculation." 

"It  has  been  accomplished,"  said  Flor 
ence,  as  she  covered  her  blushing  face. 

"But  there  were  no  tellers  to  record  the 
vote,"  he  insisted. 

140 


THE   TURNING   OFGRIGGSBY 

We  voted  again. 

"God  bless  you  both!"  said  Smead,  with 
enthusiasm. 

He  kissed  her,  gave  me  a  little  hug,  and 
added:  "Her  father  told  me  what  would 
happen,  an'  I  believe  he  gave  his  consent 
in  advance." 

"He  did,"  said  Florence. 

"Old  boy,  you've  got  a  life  job  on  your 
hands  keepin'  up  with  her.  It  suggests 
an  editorial." 

"How  so?"  Florence  inquired. 

"It  will  run  about  like  this,"  Dan'l  W. 
went  on.  " '  The  first  occupation  of  man  was 
keepin'  up  with  Eve.  She  got  tired  of 
seein'  him  lie  in  the  shade  an'  of  hearin' 
him  lie  in  the  shade.  So  she  contrived  a 
situation  in  which  it  was  necessary  for  him 
to  get  busy;  she  got  him  a  job.  It  was  no 
temporary  thing;  it  was  a  real,  permanent 
job.  Many  have  tried  to  resign  an'  devote 
their  lives  to  rum,  eloquence,  an'  trottin'- 
hosses.  We  have  seen  the  result  in  Griggs- 
141 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

by.  It  is  deplorable.  The  Little  Corporal 
calls  them  back  to  their  tasks.' ' 

We  applauded  his  editorial. 

"Oh,  I  could  compose  an  Iliad,  now  that 
I  know  you're  both  happy,"  said  he. 

"Betsey  did  it!"  Florence  exclaimed. 
"She  gave  me  courage." 

"Poor  Betsey!"  said  Dan'l  W.  "You 
know,  her  grandfather  died  a  few  weeks 
ago  an'  left  her  his  fortune,  an'  she's  dread 
fully  grieved  about  it  because  her  beau, 
young  Socrates  Potter,  has  said  that  he 
would  never  marry  a  rich  woman.  The 
boys  are  gettin'  awfully  noble  an'  inhuman. 
I'm  glad  that  Havelock  has  reformed." 


CHAPTER  XI 

was  the  end  of  the  interview, 
1  and  of  the  Websterian  age  in  Griggsby. 
It  still  lives,  the  Websterian  impulse;  but, 
like  many  other  things,  it  has  gone  West, 
although  there  are  certain  relics  of  it  in 
every  part  of  the  land.  Imaginary  great 
ness  now  expresses  itself  in  luxury  instead 
of  eloquence  here  in  the  East,  and  every 
community  is  in  sore  need  of  a  Florence 
Dunbar. 

Our  citizens  had  begun  to  fear  and  respect 
The  Little  Corporal.  Special  officers  with  a 
commission  from  its  editor  paroled  the 
streets.  Our  leading  lights  ceased  to  enter 
the  public  bar-rooms.  Midnight  brawls 
and  revels  were  discontinued.  The  poker- 
players  conducted  their  game  with  the 
i43 


THE    TURNING   OFGRIGGSBY 

utmost  secrecy  and  good  order.  The  Young 
Men's  Social  Improvement  League  was 
organized.  New  justices  of  the  peace  were 
elected.  The  first  time  that  Thurst  Giles 
got  drunk  and  beat  his  wife  he  was  promptly 
put  in  jail  at  hard  labor  for  a  long  term, 
while  the  man  who  had  sold  the  whisky 
lost  his  license.  A  well-known  and  highly 
respected  inn-keeper,  at  whose  bar  a  minor 
had  bought  drinks,  was  compelled  to  give  a 
bond  against  any  repetition  of  the  offense 
or  take  a  bitter  and  ruinous  draft  of  publicity. 
Every  week  The  Little  Corporal  swept  over 
the  town  like  a  wholesome  rain  cloud,  and 
refreshing  showers  of  wit  and  lightning 
shafts  of  ridicule  fell  out  of  it,  and  the 
people  laughed  and  thought  and  applauded. 
The  poker  sharp  and  the  ten-dollar  man  were 
praised  as  philanthropists,  while  the  "trot- 
tin'-hoss "  and  the  rum-scented  brand  of 
Websterian  dignity  were  riddled  with  good- 
natured  wit,  and  people  began  to  look 
askance  at  them.  The  perennial  springs 
144 


THE   TURNING   OFGRIGGSBY 

of  maudlin  blasphemy  and  obscenity  had 
begun  to  dry  up,  and  their  greatness  had 
departed.'  The  common  drunkards  moved 
out  of  the  village.  The  resounding  Web- 
sterian  coterie  took  their  grog  in  wholesome 
fear  and  the  strictest  privacy. 

"How  are  you?"  one  was  heard  to  ask 
another  on  the  street. 

"Sir,  I  am  well,  but  distressfully  sober," 
said  the  man  addressed. 

At  fair-time  the  half-mile  track  was  used 
only  for  a  big  athletic  meet,  in  which  every 
large  school  in  the  county  was  represented. 
A  company  of  the  best  metropolitan  players 
amused  the  people  in  a  large,  open  amphi 
theater,  for  which  money  had  been  raised 
by  subscription.  A  quartette  from  Boston 
sang  between  the  acts.  The  grounds  were 
well  policed;  everything  was  done  decently 
and  in  order.  The  citizens  of  Griggsby 
and  its  countryside  found  enlightenment 
and  inspiration  at  the  fair.  Every  exhibit 
of  drunkenness  went  to  jail  as  swiftly  as  a 
145 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

team  of  horses  and  ample  help  could  take  him 
there.  The  trotting  farce  was  abolished, 
and  the  ten -dollar  man  was  out  of  em 
ployment,  and  no  longer  the  observed  of  all 
observers.  That  living  fountain  of  blas 
phemy  and  tobacco  juice  wandered  among 
the  cattle  sheds  and  said  the  fair  was  a 
failure,  and  went  home  heartsick  and 
robbed  of  adulation.  And  a  mere  slip  of  a 
girl  had  accomplished  all  this! 

Ralph  Buckstone  returned  by  and  by, 
the  harbinger  of  a  new  era.  He  was  like 
the  wooden  horse  of  the  Greeks.  He  came 
full  of  enemies  that  hastened  the  fall  of 
Griggsby.  He  brought  in  the  cigarette. 
Through  him  the  cocktail,  the  liqueur,  and 
the  cordial  entered  the  gates  and  leading 
citizens  of  the  village.  They  were  wel 
comed  without  suspicion  and  with  every 
evidence  of  regard. 

In  a  short  time  the  flowers  of  rhetoric 
began  to  wither  and  die.  Compliments 
turned  to  groans.  The  leading  citizens 
146 


THE   TURNING   OFGRIGGSBY 

were  in  trouble.  One  retired  to  Poland 
Springs,  one  to  Arkansas,  two  to  the  old 
cemetery,  and  one  to  a  nearer  hell  of  in 
digestion  in  his  own  bed.  Dan'l  W.  Smead 
had  long  since  gone  to  his  rest,  with  a  name 
honored  above  all  others  in  his  own  county; 
for,  having  accomplished  our  purpose,  we 
sold  the  Corporal  to  the  man  who  had  done 
much  to  make  it.  I  qualified  for  the  bar, 
and  we  settled  in  New  York,  and  our  lives 
have  been  blessed  with  children,  great 
happiness,  and  a  fair  degree  of  success. 

Ralph  left  Griggsby,  and  broke  down, 
and  went  a  fast  pace.  I  heard  of  him,  now 
and  then,  in  the  next  few  years.  He  had 
gone  into  journalism  in  Boston,  and  it  was 
rumored  that  he  had  made  a  handsome  suc 
cess.  One  day  a  friend  of  us  both  said  to 
me: 

"Ralph?    Oh,  he's  getting  on  famously. 
He  is  a  typical  journalist ;  talks  like  the  first 
deputy  of  the  Creator,  and  regards  all  things 
with  a  knowing  and  indulgent  tolerance." 
i47 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

Well,  on  a  day  in  June  twenty  years  after 
my  marriage,  I  was  in  court  in  New  York, 
conducting  the  defense  of  a  millionaire 
in  trouble.  I  was  examining  a  witness 
when  the  proceedings  were  interrupted  by 
the  arraignment  of  a  prisoner.  The  clerk 
read  the  charge;  it  was  forgery,  and  the 
man  was  Ralph  Buckstone.  An  officer 
explained  that  he  was  a  gambler,  and  had 
never  been  arraigned  before.  Evidently, 
the  prisoner  had  no  defense,  and  pleaded 
guilty,  as  I  expected. 

Then  the  recorder  said  to  him:  "You 
understand,  I  presume,  what  is  involved 
in  the  step  you  are  taking?  Have  you 
consulted  counsel?" 

"There  is  no  occasion  for  it,"  said  Ralph. 
"At  last  I  have  decided  to  speak  and  live 
the  truth.  I  am  guilty.  I  have  been  a 
weak  and  foolish  man,  but  what  I  have  been, 
and  what  I  am  to  be  henceforth,  all  the 
world  is  welcome  to  know.  In  my  life 
hereafter  there  shall  be  no  concealment, 
148 


THE   TURNING   OFGRIGGSBY 

and  I  hope  never  again  to  be  ashamed  of 
the  truth  about  me." 

It  was  a  great  moment,  and  those  were 
great  words,  simply  and  modestly  spoken, 
and  they  were  the  very  words  of  old  Apple- 
ton  Hall.  Deep  under  the  weeds,  in  the 
neglected  soil  of  his  spirit,  the  good  seed 
had  been  lying  all  this  long  time.  Now  it 
had  burst,  and  was  taking  root,  as  though 
it  had  needed  only  the  heat  of  his  trouble. 
The  face  of  the  old  recorder  shone  with 
kindness;  and  I,  remembering  my  promise 
and  the  teaching  of  the  old  schoolmaster, 
was  on  my  feet  in  a  second. 

"Your  Honor,"  I  said,  "I  appear  for  the 
prisoner.  There  was  a  time  long  ago  when 
he  and  I  were  boys  together.  In  the  battles 
of  our  youth  I  defended  him,  as  I  shall 
again.  Since  that  far  day  I  fear  we  have 
both  erred  and  strayed  from  the  paths  we 
had  hoped  to  follow,  for  I  do  not  need  to 
remind  your  Honor  that  life  is  full  of  things 
that  trip  and  turn  one  from  his  course,  or 
149 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

how  easy  it  is  for  men  to  lose  their  reckon 
ing.  But  we  are  going  to  do  better;  we 
are  firmly  resolved,  and  to-day  we  ask  you 
to  help  us.  I  promise  full  reparation  to 
any  who  have  suffered  loss,  through  his 
conduct,  in  the  matter  charged,  and  a  bond 
in  any  reasonable  amount  for  his  good 
behavior." 

Then  the  tide  turned  for  Ralph  Buck- 
stone.  It  is  enough  for  me  to  say  that  he 
faced  about  and  became  an  able  and  suc 
cessful  author. 

Yes,  there  are  still  Daniel  Websters  in 
America,  many  of  them ;  there  are  Griggses 
and  Griggsbys;  but  our  Griggsby  is  a 
changed  town.  The  seats  of  leisure  are  now 
occupied  by  the  ladies.  They  have  suffered 
from  the  angel  theory,  and  it  is  their  own 
fault.  They  look  like  birds  of  paradise. 
I  should  like  to  see  them  give  up  sweet 
meats  and  idleness,  jewels  and  ethereal 
raiment,  and  rejoin  the  human  ranks,  not 
as  slaves,  but  as  real  women,  with  a  work 
150 


THE   TURNING   OF  GRIGGSBY 

to  do  and  with  all  the  rights  they  may 
desire. 

In  a  recent  humorous  account  of  the  old 
Cadets  of  Temperance  Ralph  concluded  with 
these  words: 

"My  subsequent  career  is  well  known, 
but,  alas,  poor  Havelock!" 


THE    END 


Date  Due 


PRINTED    IN    U.S.' 


CAT.    NO.    24    161 


